


Phantoms in the Dark

by Hanaasbananas



Series: Through the realms of old romance [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged up to about 20-22 here (not explicitly mentioned though), Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, F/M, Flirting, Jealousy, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, One-Sided Théo Barbeau/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Podfic Welcome, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Secret Relationship, Spying, Swordfighting, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanaasbananas/pseuds/Hanaasbananas
Summary: “Are you really a highwayman, like they say?”“I am. Does that bother you?” He asked, pressing his forehead against hers.“No.” she breathed, and pulled him close. "But they say that a kiss from a lady brings good luck, and" she pressed her lips to his. "I take my duties very seriously."AU. Paris, 1788: As unrest stirs in the capital, a mysterious figure-Chat Noir-emerges; bringing hope to the downtrodden of the city. Upon meeting Marinette Dupain, he is immediately drawn to the young woman, but as their relationship grows, so too does the danger that surrounds them; threatening to tear them apart and destroy everything that they hold dear.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: Through the realms of old romance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934101
Comments: 93
Kudos: 166





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes okay. This work has been an immense labour of love and I'm so excited to finally share it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing!  
> While this fic does reference some historical stuff like the Day of the Tiles at the beginning here, it's not really the main focus of the story hence why I chose 1788 as it's the year before the revolution rather than the year everything kicked off at once. Mostly the historical stuff is in here because I spent so long researching and trying to figure out if it made sense that I refused to cut it out. Oh well.
> 
> Thanks to [my amazing beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcake_Princess/pseuds/Cupcake_Princess)  
> you are an absolute godsend for letting me yell at you about this fic from the first day I had the idea.

**Grenoble, 7** **th** **June 1788**

Under any other circumstances, it would have been considered a nice day.

A day for riding perhaps, or a picnic, Adrien mused, enjoying the way the early evening sun warmed his face. On any _normal_ day he might have simply taken the time to stroll through the town and browse the shops for local wares.

Of course, on a normal day the shops would all have been open, and the streets wouldn’t be littered with roof tiles—or what remained of them. Some were entirely whole, while others had shattered on impact (either with the ground or the soldiers they were being hurled at) sending clay flying out in every direction. The shards crunched beneath his horse’s hooves as he made his way slowly down the street, despite his best efforts to steer Voltaire around the debris. 

At least the streets were beginning to empty this far out, though he could hear the cries of _“long live the Parlement!”_ as the mob herded the judges back towards _Palais du Parlement du Dauphiné._ Adrien winced. His father might have agreed with the people of Grenoble’s protest, but he wouldn’t quickly forget the indignity of being paraded through the town by those he deemed beneath him. 

This was why Adrien was going in the opposite direction of the crowd. His father had commanded that he make his way to Paris as soon as he could to prepare the townhouse for his arrival later and the streets had only now emptied enough for him to leave without difficulty. A few soldiers still lingered in the street and they nodded at him when he passed, recognising him or—more likely—simply not deeming him a threat. 

He had always had that sort of countenance. 

A shadow passed overhead, making him look up. To Adrien's horror, a lone straggler stood on one of the roofs, a tile held over his head, ready to throw at a soldier beneath. Beginning to dismount, Adrien’s warning died in his throat when three things happened at once.

The soldier, oblivious to oncoming danger, stepped out of range. Another man exiting the building upon which the protestor stood, involuntarily replaced the soldier as the target, and the protestor let go of the tile. 

Adrien moved without thinking. 

“Watch out!” Diving forward he pushed the startled man out of the way, hissing when the tile caught his temple. Landing heavily on his side, Adrien grunted. 

Cracking an eye open, Adrien found the man staring wide eyed at the tile that had split in two by his head. Sitting up, he inspected himself for injuries while the man hovered anxiously over him. He’d scraped his palms when he’d fallen but the sting would fade. His head, however...

“You’re bleeding!” the man exclaimed and Adrien bought a hand up to his temple, blinking in surprise when it came away wet with blood. “Come with me, son” the old man helped him up, despite his protests, ushering him into his house. 

Adrien relented, allowing the man to fuss over him, cleaning his wound with a washcloth. Holding the rag to his head, he watched, bemused as the old man pottered around mixing some kind of poultice before beginning to apply it to his head. Adrien tried his hardest not to recoil at the smell, but the man noticed the disgusted curl of his lip and simply laughed. 

“It may smell foul, but it _will_ heal the wound much faster than anything else. Now don’t move.” 

He stayed for a few hours, until the old man deemed him fit to travel again. _‘We don’t want you getting dizzy and falling off that horse now, do we?’_ Adrien had begrudgingly agreed. Now, as he stood to leave, the old man pressed a small wooden box into his palm. 

“A gift,” he held up a hand, silencing Adrien’s protests. “I can no longer use this, but you…” he sighed. Turning the box over in his hands, Adrien examined it as the man spoke. There was an intricate design painted in red on the lid. 

The old man continued “I sense a great unrest coming to this land. The people will need a figure to guide them, someone to rally behind. I am too old for that now, but you have proven yourself more than capable, young man. There is great power in this box,” he warned “wield it wisely.” 

* * *

**21** **st** **July 1788**

Stéphane Archambeau leaned against the side of the carriage, eyes closed trying to ignore his daughters’ voices. The assembly had been a long and tiring affair and for what? Hardly anyone seemed to agree on a single thing, rather several nobles had seemed hell bent on changing their positions, making it clear that they were only there to keep up appearances. 

“-do you think that Monsieur Agreste has started looking for a bride for his son yet?” 

“He’s so handsome…did you see him at the assembly? I saw him leaving when our coach arrived... maybe father can send a proposal for me…”

“Not if I can get him to send one for _me_ first— _oh!_ ” his eldest daughter shrieked and Stéphane’s eyes flew open when she flew across the carriage into him. 

_What on earth-?_

The carriage seemed to jolt as the driver urged the horses to go faster. His daughters clutched at each other, looking to him with panicked eyes and Stéphane yanked the curtain back to demand answers from the driver. 

He didn’t get the chance to ask his question however, because at that moment, he caught sight of the finely dressed young man drawing up alongside the carriage on a mighty stallion. As he watched in horror, the man pulled out a shiny pistol from inside his coat and pointed it at the driver. “Pull over, if you please” he said pleasantly, hardly sounding winded at all, despite how fast his horse was going to keep up with them. 

Stéphane licked his lips. “D-do what he says” he called to the driver, flinching when the rogue’s eyes flicked towards him. His eyes were unnatural, entirely green apart from the pupils which were slitted. 

Drawing himself back into the coach, Stéphane tried to give his daughters a reassuring smile. The three of them sat, tensely waiting as they heard the man, no—those unnatural eyes flashed in his mind and he shuddered—the _demon_ relieve their driver of any valuable possessions. 

All too soon, the door to the carriage was swinging open and the man stood in the entrance. Taking in the interior, his eyes paused on Stéphane’s daughters before coming to rest on him. The rogue's lips quirked upwards, smiling genially, almost as if they were old friends. “Terribly sorry for interrupting your journey Monsieur, but I must ask for you to relinquish some of your coin.”

Stéphane straightened, adopting his most imperious tone and glaring at the thief. “And why should I do that?” He cursed the way his voice trembled, but the amused glint in the other man's eye sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Well I suppose we could duel, but I must warn you monsieur, I am a _very_ skilled swordsman. Can you say the same for yourself?” His polite smile turned sharp and Stéphane gulped. With shaking hands, he pulled out his coin purse and practically threw it at him. 

Weighing the small pouch in his hand the thief smiled. “This will do quite nicely. Your daughters may keep their coin today.” He winked at the girls, who bristled, clutching tighter to each other. 

“Good day, sir!” He swung the door shut and Stéphane breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into his seat. And then the thief poked his head back in through the window, making the girls shriek again, although he didn’t look at them. He only addressed Stéphane, a sheepish look on his face as he spoke. “...You’ll find your driver tied up by the trees.” 

Stéphane watched him mount his horse again but as he turned to go, he couldn’t help but ask “who _are you?”_

Tipping his hat, the thief grinned at him over his shoulder. “Call me Chat Noir.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters will be posted every Friday!
> 
> Follow me on  
> [tumblr](https://hanaasbananas.tumblr.com/)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/hanaasbananaswrites/)


	2. First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks fly when Marinette meets Chat Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody told me how hard it would be to resist posting this story all at once now that I've got the whole thing written, holy crap. It's probably why I've been posting one shots all week.

**Paris, 22nd July, 1788**

“Constance-wait!” Marinette clutched fruitlessly at her friend as she followed her into the crowd, immediately losing her with people converging on her from all sides. They’d heard the commotion coming from Monsieur Damocles house on the way home and Constance had-correctly, it seemed-assumed that he had returned from the Assembly and plowed straight in without a thought to how Marinette would now have to follow her in. 

Really, was it so difficult to wait until the next morning like a normal person when all the attendees wives would be telling everyone what had happened at the meeting anyway? Marinette huffed, standing on her tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of her best friend’s red hair. At least that way she didn’t have to shuffle through a sea of men who all seemed intent on leaving as little space between them as possible, all of them jostling to see the speaker better.

It was one of these more enthusiastic men who elbowed her sharply in his attempt to move forward, barely sparing her a glance as she lost her footing and grabbed the first thing she could to stop herself from falling.

Which of course ended up being the man in front of her. Yelping, Marinette let go of his shoulder and tried to step back but found herself boxed in by those behind her. 

Swallowing down the urge to scream—she was going to  _ kill _ Constance later—Marinette pasted on a smile when the man began to turn around, preparing to apologise. But the words promptly died in her throat when she got a good look at who stood before her. 

Or rather, didn’t get a look. Because half of his face was obscured by a black mask that accentuated bright green eyes which were currently regarding her in concern. 

“My-” she cleared her throat, wrenching her gaze away from him to the floor. “My apologies Monsieur, I was looking for my friend.” 

For a moment, he didn’t speak. And then his hands were on her shoulders drawing her hood back over her head—she hadn’t even noticed it fall off—as he chided her gently. “You should be careful, mademoiselle. These gatherings are often raided, it is not good to be recognised at such events.” Marinette flushed.

“Is that why you wear the mask?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile. “Well now, that would be telling.” Turning to scan the space ahead of them he murmured, holding out his hand. “I can see where you’d get a better view, come on-”

Marinette stared uncomprehendingly up at him. “But…my friend-”

“Is likely lost to the crowd. It would be better to try and find her afterwards when there will be less people about.” 

After only a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, flushing again when his fingers closed around hers. Gripping her hood with her other hand, she allowed herself to be pulled along behind him and before long they were at the centre of the room, only a few short feet away from where Damocles was preaching. 

“If the king is infallible, then why does he bow to the nobles?” he roared. “See how these notables, these members of parlements oppose reforms that require they pay out of their own pockets?” 

“I thought I recognised him” the man muttered; his voice almost drowned out by the deafening shouts of agreement from all around them. 

“You were there? At Vizille?”

“Hm? Yes, I was. He seems to have gotten the wrong impression though. Not all the notables are in opposition, they simply believe that the nation should approve of the Kings proposals before they’re implemented.”

Marinette scoffed. “You don’t really believe that?” Taking in his bewildered expression, she sighed “Think about it. While these nobles continue to oppose reform under the guise of ‘gaining the people’s approval’, who is it that continues to pay taxes? It is not the nobles who bear that burden.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide behind the mask. “You’re right,” he admitted after a moment’s pause. “That was ignorant of me.”

“It was.”

“Forgive me, mademoiselle…?”

“You think I’m going to tell you my name? Didn’t you just tell me I must keep my identity a secret in places like this, or was that another masked man?” She couldn’t help adding a teasing lilt to her voice, relishing in the way his cheeks tinged pink. “Besides, if I gave my name to every handsome stranger I encountered, it would defeat the purpose, no?”

He conceded her point with a nod, laughing quietly. “You’re a quick learner-”

A loud shushing behind Marinette made her jump and the two of them turned to face the centre of the room again, their faces red with embarrassment.

On any other night, Marinette might have found herself caught up in Damocles impassioned speech, inspired by the way he whipped the men up into a frenzy, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on his words. Instead she was acutely aware of the man standing beside her, of his eyes on her like something tangible, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin despite the summer heat. 

Afterwards, as the men began to disperse, he turned to her with a deep bow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady.” Taking her hand and placing a kiss on her fingers, he grinned when he heard her breath hitch. “You may not give me your name, but I am more than willing to give mine. Chat Noir, at your service.”

She could tell he wanted her to ask about the unusual moniker, his grin widening the longer she stared at him, so instead she pulled her hand back, rolling her eyes and turning to leave. 

“Will I see you again?” He called after her, making her pause in her steps to consider the question. Did she want to see him again? The butterflies in her stomach gave her the answer. Looking back over her shoulder at him, Marinette raised an eyebrow...and shrugged.

* * *

This was what life was about. 

Adrien laughed out loud, enjoying the wind in his hair as he spurred Voltaire to go faster until his pursuers were but a speck in the distance behind him. It wasn’t often that he was chased by those he chose to rob, but this particular mark had been especially hot headed, and Adrien hadn’t been able to resist taunting him. 

Slowing down as he entered the city limits, Adrien dismounted from his horse, ducking into the nearest alleyway to drop his transformation. “Now that was fun.” He grinned at Plagg, ignoring the small god’s frown. 

“You know, when the guardian said you could become a figure, I don’t think he meant on  _ wanted posters.” _

“Oh, shut up and eat your cheese.” He handed the Kwami a small chunk of Camembert and waited for him to settle comfortably into his cravat before exiting the alleyway. “And anyway, you know I don’t keep it all—” he broke off, stopping so suddenly that he almost fell flat on his face. 

It was her. 

The girl who had consumed his thoughts ever since he’d met her that night a week ago. Nobody had ever spoken to him like she had, contradicting him, berating him and flirting with him all in the same conversation, whilst somehow being completely oblivious to the way she set his pulse racing. 

He’d wanted so desperately to see her again, perhaps learn her name and get to know her better. Unfortunately, his father had tightened his hold upon his return to Paris, insisting that Adrien spend his evenings studying. It hardly mattered to him that Adrien had no interest in being a magistrate like his father, and grandfather before him. 

And now, a week later, she stood only a few steps away from him, a basket on her arm, speaking to the fishmonger. She was even more beautiful in the daylight, he thought hopelessly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she counted out coins to give the vendor. Sidling closer as nonchalantly as he could, Adrien stopped one stall over from her. Grabbing an apple and pretending to inspect it for bruises, he strained his ears to hear her speak. 

“Give my best to your papa now, dear,” the fishmonger was saying. “Let me know what his new recipe is like!”

She giggled, and it was music to his ears. “Of course, monsieur! He thinks this one is a definite winner; you should come and try it sometime!”

And then she was leaving.

Adrien couldn’t help it, his head turning involuntarily to watch her as she brushed past him, his eyes following her path through the crowd. He hadn’t noticed how long her hair was that night, hidden as it was by her hood, but the dark braid snaked its way halfway down her back, tied off with a bright red ribbon that fluttered with her every step—

“That’s the landlord’s daughter.” An amused voice cut through his thoughts and he turned to see the grocer regarding him with his eyebrow raised. 

“Wha-I don’t-” Adrien cut himself off with a sigh. Plagg was snickering against his skin and his shoulders dropped in defeat. “Am I that obvious?”

“You’re smitten, boy. It’s written plain as day on your face.” The grocer laughed. “She’s Tom Dupain’s girl. He is the landlord of the Rose and Crown. Now are you going to buy that apple or not?”

Adrien bought half a dozen more apples as thanks, hardly paying attention as he fed them to Voltaire. There was only one thought on his mind. 

He had to see her again. 

* * *

“Well hello, m’lady.” Marinette gasped, spinning around to see who had spoken, her eyes scanning the empty inn yard. It might have been Théo calling to her, but no-he usually kept to the stables which were on the other side of the yard, too far for the voice that had seemed to come from behind her. 

“I’m right here,” the mysterious voice practically sang, and then a head popped out at her from behind the linens she had hung up to dry. A very  _ familiar _ head, wearing that same black mask he’d worn a week ago and topped with an unruly mop of blonde hair.

“You!” she exclaimed, once she’d caught her breath. “How did you know where I live?”

“I have my sources,” he shrugged, stepping out from behind the sheets and batting them away impatiently when they clung to him. The action reminded her of Constance’s cat whenever she got caught in someone’s skirts and Marinette had to bite back a giggle as he finally managed to extricate himself, continuing as though there had been no interruption. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be at the other meetings.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I went to others?” She had, of course. But he didn’t need to know that. It was ridiculous enough that she had wanted to see him again and had been disappointed at his absence, but there was no need to admit it to him, though he seemed undeterred. 

“It was an easy assumption to make.” He gestured to himself, smirking. “After all, you probably wanted to catch a glimpse of this handsome, charming face again.” 

“Humble too.”

“Well now that you mention it...”

“Is there a reason you’re here, Chat?” Marinette interrupted his posturing. “There are things I must be doing.” 

“But of course!” he exclaimed. “I came to enquire the name of a lovely lady. You might know her, I hear that her father is the landlord of this lovely establishment.” 

“Oh, do you mean my sister? I can go and get her for you if you’d like.” 

“What? No no, I meant  _ you! _ ”

Marinette couldn’t help it. She laughed. He just looked so  _ funny _ as he shook his head, his eyes blown wide in panic, thinking she’d mistaken him. Covering her mouth, she dissolved into even more giggles when his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re lying,” he declared confidently, sending her into fresh peals of laughter. “You don’t  _ have _ a sister, do you?” 

She shook her head. Just as Chat opened his mouth to say something else, her maman’s voice rang out across the courtyard. 

“Marinette?” she called out. “I need your help in the kitchen!” She squinted at her from the doorway “Who are you talking to?”

“Co-” she cleared her throat, turning her back on Chat. “Coming, maman! Monsieur was just…asking directions.” 

“All right, hurry up now.”

Marinette didn’t dare to speak again until her maman closed the door. “Well you heard her,” she said briskly, going to grab the laundry basket. “I’m needed elsewhere, now if you’ll excuse me- _ where is it? _ ”

“Looking for this?” She could hear the smile in his voice before she even looked up at him, holding out the basket for her. “Ma-ri-nette?” Chat said her name slowly, stepping forward as he pressed the basket into her hands. She couldn’t help but enjoy the way his tongue rolled over the syllables; sounding out her name like it was a rare delicacy, something to be savoured. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. “I quite like that name.”

She could only stare at him, frozen in place, her lips parted in surprise. It was only when Chat rocked back on his heels to regard her that her mind seemed to come alive once more. 

“Gimlad! Glad I’m-  _ I’m glad!”  _ she sputtered, cheeks blazing red before turning on her heel and marching purposefully back into the inn, pointedly ignoring the sound of Chat’s laughter behind her. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on  
> [tumblr](https://hanaasbananas.tumblr.com/)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/hanaasbananaswrites/)


	3. The Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another contender for Marinette's heart emerges...and he's not happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week, folks, but an important one nonetheless.

**Paris, 9th August 1788**

Three weeks. 

It had been three weeks since that damnable boy—that  _ thief _ —had first come to see Marinette, and not a night went by where he didn’t visit again. 

And the foolish girl was encouraging him! Opening her shutters for him every night, she’d sit in the window, talking to him below in the innyard. Other times, she’d wrap a shawl around her shoulders and come out with mugs of warm, sweetened milk that they’d sit and drink together. 

Tonight, Marinette had bought a blanket outside and the two of them sat on it, leaning against the wall. Their conversation had dropped down to a murmur and Théo watched the thief playing with Marinette’s hair ribbon as she braided her long dark hair. 

He’d given her that ribbon. 

For her previous birthday when he’d first started working for Tom and had wanted to give her a token of his affection. She’d stammered endearingly and accepted the gift, but afterwards spoke to him less and less and was often too shy to meet his eyes whenever they inevitably crossed paths.

Théo had always felt a particular thrill whenever he saw her wearing it, and with the way she’d duck her head and hurry away when she saw him, it was clear that she also felt something for him but was simply too shy to act on her feelings. It was one of the things he loved about her. 

And yet how readily she replaced him! Even parting with his gift and allowing it to be tainted by the hands of another. 

Théo wasn’t a fool. He knew that he could not compare to a dashing rogue; an adventurer with a rapier sharp wit. He knew that for the most part, he went unnoticed. It was something he’d come to terms with long ago. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting when night after night, Marinette—beautiful, sweet Marinette— chose to spend hours upon hours with a thief. One too cowardly to even show his face, hiding it behind masks as though he were a gentleman at a party, instead of a criminal of the worst kind. 

(Really, he should let Tom know what was going on, let him run the boy off, put an end to the madness so that Marinette could be his once more—)

He watched as Marinette held her hair out, letting Chat clumsily tie the braid with her ribbon before he stood up, holding his hand out to pull her up as well. 

(—but Tom loved his daughter, and Théo wouldn’t be surprised if he befriended Chat Noir instead. )

She walked with him to the end of the yard, both of them passing by the stables where Théo hid. Stepping back into the shadows, he was so focused on the proximity between them-their hands almost brushing!- that he very nearly missed what they were saying. 

“-would be nice to see you away from here. Do you think you could come to Damocles tomorrow?”

_ Say no, say no, say no,  _ he wanted to scream but it was no use. 

“I can’t make any promises…” Marinette began slowly. “But I shall certainly  _ try  _ to be there.”

Taking her hand, Chat kissed it in farewell. “That’s all I ask. Until tomorrow, my lady.”

Théo frowned, his chest tightening when Marinette made her way back inside, fighting a smile, her hands pressed to flushed cheeks. 

He had to put an end to this. It couldn’t be allowed to continue, not when Marinette was so quickly slipping from his grasp. But how…? He couldn’t do it himself, after all what if she came to resent him? He couldn’t bear it. No, it had to be her father—

Oh! But of course. Tom may not mind a brief courtship, but his only daughter venturing out of home alone at night was a different matter entirely... 

It was simple.

Théo’s eyes followed Chat until he walked out of sight, finally allowing a satisfied smile to pull at his lips. He would merely keep watch, and if Marinette chose to go out and meet him, and her father ‘happened’ to find out about her little excursion, well...

...really it was for the best. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on  
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> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/hanaasbananaswrites/)


	4. The Ribbon in her Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I acted out sword fighting with pens when I wrote this chapter to see if the things I wanted to happen made sense.

**Paris, 10th August 1788**

“Is there anyone here who would dare to fight _me,_ the Mighty Chat Noir?” Adrien deepened his voice into a growl, circling around the group of children. Fighting back a smile as they giggled and shrunk away from him, he straightened up, swinging the wooden sword in his hand wildly before assuming a standard dueling stance. 

When the children continued to stare up at him, their eyes wide, Adrien turned his back on them with an overexaggerated, disdainful sniff. “Just as I thought. There isn’t a single decent warrior amongst you. You’ve certainly made this conquest easy.” 

Behind him, he could hear them whispering amongst themselves until-“I’ll fight,” a small voice piped up, prompting Adrien to turn around. 

The children had parted to reveal a young boy, his face set in a serious expression-Jacques, if Adrien remembered his name correctly. “Aha!” he teased. “I see I have a competitor! Will you duel, young sir?”

Jacques nodded. 

“Very well.” Adrien passed his sword from hand to hand for a second, neatly sidestepping Jacques as he lunged forward with a shout. The boy spun around to face him again, calculating his next move with more care. 

“En garde!” Jacques exclaimed, swinging the sword at him. Adrien jumped back, parrying the blow with ease as their swords clashed together. Jacques was certainly determined, but he was easily unbalanced; putting his entire body behind every thrust. 

Adrien continued to block his attacks, while Jacques kept pushing forward and forcing Adrien backwards. A quick glance behind him showed that in another few steps he’d collide with the children watching the fight. They hardly seemed to care that the two fighters were about to crash _right into them_. 

Well. That wouldn’t do.

Instead of parrying the next blow, Adrien pushed against Jacques’ sword hard enough that he couldn’t pull away without stumbling. Pressing the advantage his height gave him, he held the sword in place, twisting out of the way of the children and stepping around Jacques who turned with him, his heels digging into the ground, both hands gripping his sword to try and push against him. 

Adrien pulled back, chuckling when Jacques faltered at the release of pressure. Instead of looking put out though, the boy simply grinned. 

“ _Now!”_ he shouted, holding his sword aloft.

All at once Adrien was swarmed by tiny children, surging forward to cling to his legs, his arms, whichever part of him that they could reach. Some even tried climbing up onto his back and hanging tight to his shoulders like monkeys. Their battle cry was deafening and he staggered under their combined weight. It didn’t take much longer for them to drag him down to the ground even as he held his arms up in surrender.

“Mercy! Mercy!” he wheezed in between laughs. “I concede!” Just as quickly, the children scrambled off him and away until it was only Jacques standing over him, pressing the tip of his sword to his neck. 

“Do you surrender?” he asked.

“I do, I do!” Adrien babbled, playing the part of a beaten soldier. “You have defeated me, it’s true.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Jacques offered Adrien his hand. Standing, he clapped the boy on his shoulder, pulling him close to his side. “Not many can say that they defeated Chat Noir. I think this calls for a feast, in honour of a great warrior, don’t you?” 

At the children’s answering cheer, he laughed, herding them into the dining room where their supper awaited. For a moment, Adrien stood in the doorway watching as they dug into their food, going over the fight in minute detail embellishing it as they went. Jacques sat at the centre of it all, his cheeks flushed with pride. 

He’d meant to slip out unnoticed, but the house mother followed him to the door, stopping him before he could leave. 

“Thank you again, Chat Noir,” she said earnestly.

“Oh, I don’t do anything.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I just...entertain them for a while. It is you who ensures their wellbeing, not I.”

She hummed. “Perhaps. But without your coin, I wouldn’t even be able to do that,” pressing a warm pastry into his hands, she said firmly. “It’s not much, but take this as thanks. Please.” 

Adrien sighed. “Alright.” Turning the pastry over in his hands, he examined it curiously. “I didn’t know you baked.”

“Oh, I don’t. But Marinette Dupain brings a basket of treats for the children every few days and, well I thought you might like one”

At the mention of her name, an image flashed into his mind. Marinette laughing, crouching down to greet the children as they clamoured around her for the first pick of the sweets. She’d never mentioned it to him, though Marinette wasn’t the sort to be a braggart, and really she probably hadn’t seen it as the extraordinary kindness that it was, let alone something to seek _praise_ for. 

Sensing the lovesick smile that was threatening to break out across his face, Adrien panicked and without thinking, stuffed the pastry in his mouth to hide it. Probably not the most subtle move, given the knowing glint in her eyes, but he ignored it, chewing vigorously whilst slowly backing out of the door. 

With one final swallow, he grinned, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “Mmm! it’s _delicious_! But I have to go, so...bye!” 

* * *

The daughter of the local seamstress, Constance, had met Marinette when she had gone to her mother to learn the trade. Though Madame Daquin often complained bitterly that her own daughter had not inherited her skill with a needle, Constance hadn’t resented Marinette for the praise her mother heaped upon her. Rather, after her first week of lessons, Constance had _thanked_ her, for her mother no longer cared to force her to learn when she had a much more willing and talented apprentice. 

The friendship that followed had been immediate and strong. In fact, up until Constance had married, the girls had been nigh inseparable. If someone did happen to catch one of the girls alone, it was practically guaranteed that the other was not far behind. 

This meant, of course, that Constance was the only other person who knew about Chat Noir’s nightly visits to the inn. And Marinette intended to keep it that way.

Marinette spun around, smoothing down her embroidered skirts and inspecting herself at every angle. She peered over her shoulder at Constance "I'm not sure...you don’t think this a little too much?"

“Do you _want_ to take his breath away or not?”

“Yes! No—” Marinette collapsed onto her bed with a huff. “Oh I don’t know! I don’t want to come across as too forward.”

“Alright how about...” Constance rummaged in her bag and pulled out a metal circlet that had paste gems arranged in the shape of a rose at the centre. “Keep your hair down, but wear this. You can wear any old gown, it will be hidden under your cloak anyway, but-” Reaching forward, she pushed the circlet into Marinette’s dark hair. Taking a few strands from the side of her head, she twisted them and clipped them back underneath the band. “See, we can braid these parts, and weave them into the band and it’ll be perfect.” 

“There!” She leaned back to examine her handiwork, passing Marinette a hand mirror. “Pretty, but not too obvious. What do you think?” 

Tilting her head this way and that, Marinette had to admit; the headpiece _was_ striking against her hair and the gemstones could almost pass for real garnets with the way that they glinted when she turned her head. “You’re a genius. _Thank you.”_

“Oh it was nothing. Although…” She grinned wickedly. “You can certainly thank me after your lover boy kisses you tonight.”

“Constance!” Marinette half shrieked, throwing the mirror at her friend. “He’s not my... _lover!”_ She hissed the last word, glancing warily at her bedroom door. “He hasn’t even declared his intentions yet. For all I know, he could simply see me as a…a good friend.”

“Marinette.” Constance said bluntly. “This boy has been visiting you _every day_ for the last _month_. If that doesn’t tell you that he intends to court you then nothing will.”

Marinette was silent. She desperately hoped Constance was right, but this was all so _new_ to her. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that she was now of marriageable age, that her parents had started looking for potential matches for her. She also knew that they were seriously considering Théo Barbot, the stableman. After all, he was a perfectly respectable option and he was certainly _interested,_ even if she herself wasn’t. 

And that was the problem wasn’t it? 

Marinette had spent the past year listening to her best friend gush about her lover. The look on Constance’s face had always been so...beatific, so utterly euphoric as she recounted tales of the things Charles did for her, the gifts he gave, the confessions he spoke. She’d speak of the flutters in her belly whenever they met, her eyes shining as they giggled and whispered about kisses; examined every word Charles said to search for any hidden meanings and Marinette couldn’t wait for the roles to reverse, for _her_ to be the one with the stories to tell. 

And then it happened. And she felt nothing. 

She couldn’t seem to muster up a single drop of enthusiasm for the ostler and she couldn’t understand _why._ He really was sweet, even if his attentiveness unnerved her sometimes. And when he’d given her that hair ribbon, he’d been so quick to silence her protests; pointing out that her previous one had been frayed to shreds, and really, it was more a practical gift than anything else wasn’t it? There was no need to think too hard on the implications of accepting it as a token of friendship if nothing else. 

She’d been too surprised to do anything _but_ accept it then and she suspected he thought she’d been rendered speechless by his words. Which, she had, but not for the reasons he believed. 

Constance continued. “Even Charles didn’t do that when we were courting and you _know_ how incorrigible we were.”

She did know. Constance and Charles had only been married a year, but it was a year where Marinette didn’t have to lie and tell Madame Daquin that Constance was staying at the inn with her. There had been entirely too many sleepless nights waiting for Constance to get back from her rendezvous but even those had been limited to once or twice a week. They hadn’t dared to risk more. Not like Chat did.

“You really think so?” Marinette’s voice was small as she tried to quash the hope blooming in her chest. 

It was difficult to find the words that explained how she felt about Chat. He was a flirt, yes, but he was also cheerful and kind. And he made her laugh. Oh, how he made her laugh! Where she often struggled to muster a genuine smile for Théo whenever their paths crossed, when she was with Chat, laughter came to her as effortlessly as drawing breath. 

It was strange, she thought, how easily they could talk for hours and hours about everything and nothing at all. 

It was simple. Easy. 

Until last night. 

Marinette hadn’t really thought much about Chat’s request to tie her braid for her, but it was clear that he’d never done it before, and his position lying on his side in front of her certainly hadn’t helped. Really it had been a terrible knot and she’d told him so, laughing at his put out expression when she’d given the ribbon a quick tug and it came undone. 

_“Show me how to do it,”_ he’d insisted then and Marinette had been happy to oblige. What she hadn’t been prepared for however, was for Chat to sit up and pay such close attention; his eyes trained on her hands, brow furrowed in concentration as he watched her deftly tie the bow. 

That would have been the end of it, her short lesson done, if Chat hadn’t decided to lean in to her side with a grin that set her pulse racing and, hesitated for half a second before he teasingly fluffed her braid. She’d inhaled sharply at the feel of his fingers in her dark tresses and felt her heart stutter in her chest. 

The action was hardly indecent, if anything it was perfectly innocent. Somehow though, it felt so much more intimate in a way his chaste hand kisses never had. Certainly, his lips on her hand never failed to make her blush; but such a gesture was not an uncommon one. His hands digging into her hair, though? 

She’d felt a thrill run through her at the touch, a strange heat pooling low in her belly, and suddenly Marinette knew exactly what Constance had been talking about. And one thing was for certain.

She did not want to let this feeling go. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on  
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	5. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien does something drastic. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Plagg. That is all
> 
> Thanks again to [my beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcake_Princess/pseuds/Cupcake_Princess)  
> seriously, my grammar is ATROCIOUS thank you for fixing all my mistakes lmao you're a godsend

**Paris, 10th August 1788**

When Adrien was a young boy, prone to wandering the woods that bordered their family property—scaring his mother half to death in the process—she would tell him stories. Stories of magical adventures in far away lands; heroes and villains; good versus evil. But the tales she told most were of witches. Old hags who dwelt in forests and lured children away from their warm homes, encouraged them to stray off familiar paths with the promise of sweets.

Once she had them, the witch would ply them with more and more treats, ensuring they would never want to leave. Sticky toffees, candied fruits, marzipan and chocolate…the list went on. With every sweet consumed, their appetites grew insatiable and the children begged for more! more! more! Never realising that the old hag had simply been fattening them up, preparing them for her own hearty stew. 

_ “Nobody knows where the witch will strike next,”  _ his mother had said,  _ “though they say that when she goes, she leaves behind the scent of burnt sugar so that others may know she was there.”  _ Then, she’d ruffle his hair and say;  _ “I hear that she has a particular affinity for little blonde boys with green eyes. According to her, they make the best meat pies. We wouldn’t want her to take  _ you  _ now, would we?” _

Adrien had always scoffed at the silly children in the stories, proudly proclaiming that he would never be so easily bewitched. But now he wondered; what if the witch in the stories  _ hadn’t  _ been an ugly old crone, but a beautiful young maiden? 

If they were as beautiful as Marinette, perhaps? As kind, as welcoming, as talented as her? Why, he’d follow her without a second thought. 

Because Marinette had beguiled him. Completely and utterly, he was entranced. 

“She’s so  _ amazing,  _ Plagg!” Adrien sighed dreamily. “I barely got to taste it but that pastry was still better than anything I've had at father's parties.” 

Plagg, who had been listening to Adrien’s gushing for weeks now and was tired of it, made a face. He flew over to where Adrien was sitting at his desk, staring at the few bites of pastry he’d managed to save from earlier. Then, with a shrug, Plagg swallowed it whole. 

“Eurgh!” The kwami gagged, grabbing at his throat and retching. “You said this was delicious!”

“It is!” Adrien exclaimed, glowering at him. “It  _ was. _ Why would you eat it?”

“ _ Because you said it was the best pastry you’ve ever had!” _ Plagg exclaimed, enunciating his words slowly and deliberately as though speaking to a simpleton. “How many times have I told you that you can’t say that about things that don’t have cheese in them!”

Adrien laughed. “Plagg, fruit tarts are infinitely better than cheese ones.” 

“ _ You take that back!” _

With an indignant yowl, Plagg zipped across the room to where his cheese was stashed. “Once.  _ Just once _ , I would like a Chosen who appreciates cheese like I do. Is that too much to ask?” Ignoring Adrien’s sniggering, he nuzzled a chunk of Brie, and continued muttering mutinously to himself. “But no! Of course not, Plagg has to get someone with a sweet tooth as bad as Tikki’s!”

“Tikki?”

“She’s my other half. Creation to my destruction. She’s not active right now, but she bestows luck upon her holders.”

“Luck, hm? Now why didn’t I get  _ that  _ miraculous?” Adrien teased. “Surely that would make more sense, no?”

Plagg bristled, and threw a piece of blue cheese at Adrien’s head. “Hey! You should count yourself  _ lucky _ to have me.” Flying back over to retrieve his missile, he carried on. “Tikki would  _ never  _ have allowed you to go on these robbing sprees. She’d look at you with such disapproval after the first one that any wicked impulse in your soul would shrivel up and die. Trust me on this, you’re better off with me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Adrien muttered, his nose wrinkling in distaste when Plagg swallowed a piece of cheese as big as his head. “But surely she wouldn’t be too upset about it, since I’m not  _ keeping  _ all the money.” He gestured at the abandoned journal on his desk. 

Until Plagg’s interruption, he’d been going over the accounts, making sure that his ‘charitable donations’ were spread out equally among the orphanages of the city. Or he’d been trying to at least. Instead, Adrien had found his mind wandering back to that morning, which made him think about Marinette, which then reminded him of their meeting tonight; which had him staring at the pastry she’d made (with her own hands!) and wondering if she’d bring him some if he asked and…

...Mostly he found himself wondering what would have happened if he’d kissed her like he wanted to last night. He’d gotten so close, close enough to see how her eyes had widened imperceptibly at his proximity, her lips parting just so. It would have been so easy to just lean down and…

...well he did say he’d been bewitched.

“Perhaps,” Plagg conceded, “but you’d still have to do a lot of explaining and—,” he broke off suddenly, zipping behind the books on Adrien’s desk just as the door opened and his father entered, stopping just a few steps in from the doorway. 

“Adrien.” 

“Father,” he stood, straightening his back. “What brings you here?” Adrien’s father rarely, if ever came to his rooms. When he had something to say, he’d be summoned to the study where he had to stand—not sit,  _ never _ sit—in the centre of the room, like an employee being reprimanded rather than a son. 

His father didn’t answer the question. Instead he nodded towards Adrien’s hand. “Where did you get that ring? It doesn’t have our insignia on it.”

Adrien bristled. “I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours.”

“I would argue that It  _ is  _ my concern. Especially when my son is running around playing at  _ highway robbery. _ ” He spat the last two words, momentarily allowing a flicker of distaste to cross his face. Adrien could only stare, stunned. 

“Did you honestly think I hadn’t noticed? I’ll admit, I let this go on far longer than I should have but it is abundantly clear to me now that you do not understand the power you hold. It would be best for everyone involved if you turned the ring over to me.” 

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Adrien met his father’s eyes defiantly. “And if I don't?”

“Don’t be foolish, Adrien—.”

“ _ Because,”  _ he interrupted, “I think I understand these powers perfectly, father. And in fact, I don’t think  _ you  _ understand. I was  _ chosen  _ to wield this miraculous, not you.  _ Me.  _ And so, what I choose to do with it...  _ how  _ I choose to use it, well. Like I said,” Adrien shrugged, “it’s none of your concern.”

“So you would waste them?” He flinched at his father's laugh, brittle and sharp. “When we could do  _ so much _ with this power? With it, we could destroy edicts before they become law; we could ensure that only what we want comes to pass, don’t you understand? We could  _ overrule the King!  _ Revolution is coming, Adrien, and we can shape it to our advantage. To France’s advantage.”

Adrien remained silent, his mind racing. The gleam in father's eye unsettled him and unconsciously he clenched his fist with the ring, hiding it behind his back. Father’s ambition was hardly a surprise. It had always been a point of contention between his parents and the fact that he’d immediately try to claim the destructive power of the miraculous for himself wasn’t particularly unusual. But it was clear that he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. It was time to change tactics. 

“Adrien you  _ will  _ give me your miraculous,” his father repeated. “This is not negotiable.”

“Of course, father.” Adrien bowed his head “I simply have one request. To keep the ring one last night before I relinquish it. Please?”

Father studied his face and Adrien forced himself to stand still, to slump his shoulders and look as guileless as possible; a rebellious son worn down by his father’s scolding. The act seemed to work, because he softened, stepping forward to place a heavy hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Very well. I will take it first thing in the morning. You are not to leave this room, understood? Félix will be stationed outside your door.”

Adrien’s jaw ticked but he said nothing. He didn’t dare move a muscle until father turned and strode out of the room, exhaling loudly when the door slammed shut behind him. He waited another minute before springing into action, hurrying over to his wardrobe and throwing his clothes onto the bed. Feeling around for the false bottom he’d installed, thanking God that he’d had the foresight to take a small share of spoils for himself after every robbery.

Plagg zipped out from his hiding place, flying into Adrien's face as he put the money at the bottom of his traveling sack-keeping only one coin purse out- and began shoving clothes haphazardly into it. “What do you mean you’ll give it to him—,”

“Plagg—,” 

“You can’t just give away your ring—,”

“Plagg.”

“—it was given to you for a reason—,”

“Plagg!” Adrien shouted, glaring at the small deity. “I’m  _ not  _ giving it to him.”

“Then what-ohhh.” Finally noticing what he was doing, Plagg perched on Adrien’s shoulder, watching him curiously. “You were bluffing.” 

“Obviously,” Adrien said irritably. 

“But how are we going to get out? If he’s got someone at the door, then he’ll  _ definitely  _ have people watching your windows.”

Adrien grinned. “There’s a reason why I chose this room when we first moved here.” Walking back to his desk, he pushed the bookcase beside it, revealing a ragged, horizontal tear in the wallpaper. Running his fingers through the seam, he finally caught what he was looking for, and pulled. However instead of the sound of ripping wallpaper, hinges creaked as a piece of the wall turned out to be a door, opening to uncover a narrow stone passageway. “Most of these old tunnels have been sealed off, but I suppose they didn’t check them all, just covered up the doors and hoped that nobody would notice.”

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Adrien grabbed his chamberstick and a spare candle. Waiting for Plagg to settle inside his jacket, he surveyed his room one last time, ignoring the pang in his chest. He didn’t know where he would go, or what he would do, but one thing was certain. 

He wouldn’t be coming back.

* * *

That evening, Chat met her a little ways away from the inn, further down the street. His eyes widened when she joined him, and she noted with glee that his cheeks had tinted pink at the sight of her. Despite that, he remained subdued instead of his usual cheerful self and they made the journey in silence. 

“So,” Marinette began hesitantly, peering up at Chat beside her. “What do you think the topic of discussion will be this time?”

“Truthfully?” Chat said. “I have absolutely no idea. I  _ did  _ hear that the King has made some sort of announcement. Perhaps Damocles will be able to tell us more.”

“Perhaps,” Marinette agreed, linking her arm with his. “I’m sure that whatever it is, he’ll claim responsibility. After all, he is—,”

“The king's ‘secret advisor’.” They both said Damocles favourite phrase in unison, dissolving into laughter. 

“Does he really believe that elevates his credibility? Or that anyone actually believes that?”

“Well if nothing else, it certainly gets his name out—look.” Chat pointed down the street at Damocles house. The sight was astonishing; his house so full that people were spilling out the door and filled the street. And yet they were all silent, listening intently to whatever was being said inside. 

As they approached the fringes of the crowd, a sudden cheer erupted from the people gathered there, almost deafening in its intensity. Almost immediately the people turned to each other, faces alight with excitement as they chattered amongst themselves and Marinette could only stare in bewilderment. 

“What on earth-?” Stepping to the side, as the crowd began to disperse, people making their way further down the street, Chat grabbed the first man to move ahead of the crowd. Red faced and laughing, he did not take offence at being manhandled.

“What’s happened?” Chat asked and if possible, the man's face lit up even more. 

“Oh what a wonderful day!” he exclaimed “A day to rejoice! The King has agreed to hold an Estate’s General meeting!” Before they could react, the man had pulled Chat into a bear hug, squeezing him tight. Marinette brought a hand up to her mouth though she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at Chat’s shell-shocked expression when the man finally let go, whistling a jaunty tune as he continued on his way. 

Schooling her expression into something more neutral, Marinette’s lips twitched at the utter betrayal on Chat’s face. Scrambling for something to distract him, she latched onto what the man had said. “An Estates General, how exciting!” She clapped her hands and then frowned, realising why she didn’t feel the same excitement as the others around them. “What exactly  _ is  _ that?” 

Chat blinked in surprise. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, he shrugged ruefully. “I’m not entirely sure myself.” Gesturing ahead of them, he offered his hand and said; “Come on, let's go see if we can ask Damocles about it. I’d wager he’s already told everyone that as the King’s advisor, he  _ personally  _ convinced the King to hold this...meeting.” 

Marinette took his hand with a smirk, falling into step beside him. “I never thought I’d see the day where  _ Chat Noir _ didn’t know something.”

“Hey!” He cried, affronted. “I do know  _ some things.” _ He paused. “For example I know that this type of meeting hasn’t been held in...oh, nearly a hundred years or so.”

“Truly?”

“I  _ think  _ so. I’m fairly certain I read something about it in a book once, though I didn’t pay much attention to it. I never was one for history.” 

They stayed for a few hours, talking with those who had gathered and still mingled in the streets even as the sky grew darker. Their excitement was infectious. With every conversation, Marinette could feel her own enthusiasm growing. How could she not?  _ Finally _ the people would have a chance to air their grievances in front of the King! The thought was exhilarating, and what if her papa decided to go? Her papa, meeting the King, what a thought! 

“But why now?” She asked Chat as he walked her home later. 

“I’m not a teacher you know,” he grumbled, though the effect was rather diminished by the way he nudged her shoulder playfully. Catching her eye, he sighed. 

“It’s like you said,” Chat began slowly. “While the nobles continue to oppose tax reform, the common folk bear the burden of taxation. From what I’ve heard, the King wishes to somehow reform the system so that it is applied equally across the nation, but therein lies the issue.”

“For a long time, there was a mutually beneficial agreement that the nobles wouldn’t oppose the King’s decisions as long as they were not taxed. It helped because in the past, nobles were known to withhold vital goods, such as grain, if they saw reason to, or simply wanted to get their own way. Of course, when faced with the prospect of having to pay the crown, they use their power in parlements to oppose him under the guise of opposing despotism, and are suggesting the reforms should be put to the people to let them decide.” Chat shrugged. “I suppose this is the King calling their bluff.

“The nobles may say that the people don’t want this reform, but if the King asks the people himself? Listens to their grievances and shows them that they are heard? It will certainly change the view people have of him right now.”

“And then if people approve of a new land tax, the nobles will have no choice but to let the king implement it!”

“ _ Exactly.” _ Chat grinned down at her. “After all, the third estate may be poor, but it outnumbers the amount of clergy and noblemen combined; which  _ means  _ they could be outvoted.” 

Marinette shook her head, astonished. To think that the people of Paris could change the course of a nation! It was a dizzying thought, but it filled her with hope. Hope for the future. Too many nights she had watched her parents sit at the table counting money all night until their candle was a tiny stub in its holder and the sun rose outside the window; counting to see what measly amount would be left after they spent their wages on taxes. 

And all that could become a thing of the past! A distant memory. 

“It seems things might be—,” the words faltered on her lips as she turned to look at him. She was startled to see the softness in his eyes and she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Might be, changing for the better.” She’d hardly finished her sentence when Chat stepped forward, and pressed his lips to hers. 

For a second, Marinette froze, too shocked to do anything, until she found herself noting with a strange sort of clarity that the two of them were alone in the street. That thought alone was enough, and she melted into the kiss with a sigh, grabbing hold of his elbows to steady herself; her knees weakening.

Chat’s lips were soft, moving slowly, almost languidly against hers. That, paired with his rough palms cupping her cheeks made for a sensation that seemed to rob her of all her mental faculties and sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. 

And then just as suddenly-it was over. Chat pulled away sharply and Marinette opened her eyes slowly, the taste of his lips still on hers. The smile that had begun to curve at her lips dropped. 

Chat was looking down at her in alarm, his eyes wide. “Marinette I’m so-,” he cut himself off, ripping his arms from her as though she was on fire, “s-sorry, I shouldn’t have-I must-I shouldn’t have been so-.” Marinette reached out for him, but he was already stepping away from her, shaking his head frantically. “I must—,” and before she could do more than say his name, he turned tail, and fled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a bit of a history dump at the end there but that's really all there will be tbh, but I'm just a history nerd who wanted to keep it in.  
> Fun fact: Even though Adrien and Marinette discuss how the third estate would outnumber the others in votes, the meeting never actually took off because nobody could decide how to vote. The third estate wanted everyone to have individual votes, but it was decided that each estate would have a collective vote, meaning the first (nobility) and second (clergy) estates could outvote anything 2 to 1. 
> 
> But these two don't know that.
> 
> Follow me on  
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	6. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien and Marinette catastrophize in the aftermath of The Kiss.

**Paris, 15th August 1788**

“What should I _do_ Plagg?” Adrien paced the small room, becoming more and more agitated with each step. “She must be avoiding me.” 

As usual, Plagg didn’t care, simply watching Adrien from his perch on the window. His expression said that he was above such petty troubles, but he very wisely didn’t say that out loud. 

(Since they’d left home, Adrien had developed a penchant for withholding cheese, something for which the Kwami had deemed him a tyrant.)

Adrien was a mess. He’d arrived early the next day at Damocles house; waiting across the street to see when she’d arrive but she never did. And as the days progressed, it got harder still to see if she was even in attendance, especially now that Damocles had started conducting meetings all day and night; compiling lists of grievances and helping people get their words in order for what they might say at the Estates-General. 

He hadn’t even been able to meet Marinette at home. Granted, it had taken him a few days to work up the courage to go back to the innyard; but unlike the other times he’d visited her, the window had been dark, the shutters closed tight. The message was clear. 

He was not welcome. 

If only he hadn’t been so damn impulsive! But Adrien hadn’t been able to resist—the excitement of the evening; coupled with how Marinette had looked in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining... it had felt like the most natural thing in the world to do, and before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her. 

The memory of that kiss consumed his every thought; the way her head had tilted up just so, and her lips had pressed against his. He’d wanted to do more, and it was that thought that had snapped him out of it, the reality of what he’d done crashing over him like a bucket of ice cold water. 

He hadn’t stuck around long enough for her to slap him, or berate him but he knew it was what he deserved. Perhaps her absence was his punishment but he hadn’t realised how much it would affect him.

Until now. 

“Oh just go and see her why don’t you?” Plagg drawled. “You won’t know anything for sure until you actually _speak_ to her.”

“Plagg she’s made it _obvious_ that she won’t see Ch-,” Adrien stopped abruptly, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Plagg you’re a genius!”

“I know I am, but what did I do this time?”

“I’ll go to the inn as myself!” He paced the room again with renewed vigour, laying out his idea. “Marinette doesn’t know who it is behind the mask, so she won’t recognise me if she sees _Adrien_ there and I can gauge her mood before trying to see her as Chat again.”

Rushing forward to scoop up the kwami, Adrien deposited him in his pocket, and was halfway out the door before he could hear Plagg’s muffled protests of: “ _that’s not what I meant!”_

* * *

Finding Marinette was easy.

He’d arrived at the inn just in time to buy himself a dinner-a hearty vegetable stew- and sat nursing a mug of ale as the room began to empty; many of the guests retiring to their rooms for the night. He’d almost given up on seeing her when the door to the kitchen opened and she emerged. 

She looked...distracted, although that didn’t stop her from putting on a smile for the patrons. After pouring another round of ale for those who asked, she retreated into a corner, picking up a pile of fabric and beginning to work at it with a needle and thread. 

He watched as a furrow formed between her brows and he wondered what she was thinking. Her apron was dusted with flour and her braid was messy, wisps of hair falling into her face only to be swiped away in irritation.

A long day then. There had been many nights when Marinette complained to him of rowdy customers, of too many guests and ridiculous demands made by travelling merchants (“ _Silk sheets! Where does he think we are? Versailles?”_ ). Adrien had always enjoyed hearing about her day and letting her rant; and he found that he missed not knowing what bothered her more than he could say. 

Seeing her now, with her full attention on the shirt in her hands, Adrien was reminded of another such night, where she had grumbled about the exhaustion of having to assist the cook and her mother in the kitchen just to make sure everyone’s needs were met. _“It’s why I wish to be a seamstress,”_ she’d confided to him. “ _It relaxes me and there is less demand on my time. I cannot say the same for the demand on my fingers, however.”_ She’d laughed, showing him her pricked fingers. 

“Say, what do we think of this Chat Noir fellow?” Adrien looked up at the mention of his name, though he remained silent in his seat, his grip on his mug tightening. Opinions on him were divided, he knew, but he was curious to see what Marinette would make of the topic of conversation. 

Keeping one eye on Marinette in the corner, Adrien leaned forward to listen closer as the discussion in the room turned to politics. A large mustachioed man who he recognised as the landlord—Marinette’s father, Adrien realised—spoke. 

“Well he’s a damn good thief, I’ll give him that. And he leaves us humble folk alone.” Monsieur Dupain shrugged. “I say let him do what he wants.”

“He’s doing us a favour, robbing from those leeches,” one of the men at the front agreed. “They take, and take, and take our money, growing fatter from our labour while we are forced to eat scraps! Why _shouldn’t_ he steal from them?” 

“And what happens when wealthy merchants and nobility catch on and stop traveling these roads?” Another man piped up angrily, slamming his fist on the table. “Because that will certainly be what happens next. You think he’ll just...stop? No, he’ll turn his eyes to _us,_ and then where will that leave us? Living in fear, that’s what!” 

“Oh _that’s_ likely,” Marinette muttered to herself, flushing when all eyes turned to her. “That is, uh-,” she stuttered, eyes wide. Adrien found himself appraising her and she caught him staring, flushing an even darker shade of red. She was saved from further embarrassment by another voice calling her name. 

A red headed girl burst through the door and made a beeline for Marinette who had half risen from her seat; brandishing a sheaf of papers. “Marinette have you seen these new dress patterns? They’re simply _divine!”_

Shushing the other girl, Marinette pulled her down beside her and the two began whispering furiously to each other. 

Monsieur Dupain cleared his throat, directing the patrons' attention back to the conversation at hand. “My daughter is right. I think it highly unlikely that Chat Noir might steal from the poor when he gives so many of his spoils away. Several of the city's orphanages have benefited since he turned up and that’s no bad thing is it?” 

There were several murmurs of assent around the room and Adrien hid a smile before tuning out the rest of the conversation, concentrating instead on what Marinette was saying to her friend. It was times like this that Adrien was glad that becoming Chat Noir had enhanced his hearing in ways he’d never expected. 

“What did you say?” her friend was saying. “Were you defending your _lover boy?”_ Adrien almost choked on his drink at the words. _Lover boy?_

“Constance!” Marinette hissed. “I wasn’t-I-shut up!” She buried her face in her hands. “I just-Chat may be a stupid idiot, but they were saying-well I didn’t actually say anything anyway. _Don’t look at me like that!_ ”

“Oh fine.” The girl—Constance—waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway that’s not why I came. These new patterns arrived and mother insisted I show you them. I think sewing from patterns will be your next lesson so you’d better start reading. You know what my mother is like.” 

While Marinette flipped through the sheets, Constance turned to listen to what was being said in the centre of the room. Looking over the people, she paused when she saw him, her eyes narrowing. She stared at him for so long that Adrien shifted uncomfortably, especially when a sly grin curled at her lips. Not looking away from him, she spoke.

“Have you thought about buying that red fabric we saw at that shop in Rue Saint-Jacques?” 

Marinette glanced up at her friend, frowning. “What would I do with velvet? It’s too hot to wear something like that, and besides, even if I did make something with it, I’d never wear it out of fear of ruining it.”

“Well what if you made something for someone _else..?”_

“Constance!” Marinette glared at the other girl. Grabbing the shirts in her lap and bundling them in her arms, she got up, dragging her friend out of the room with her. Constance looked back over her shoulder at him, and caught his eye once more. 

“ _You’re welcome,”_ she mouthed, and Adrien finally understood. Somehow, Marinette’s friend had figured out who he was and was...trying to help him? Adrien shrugged. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when it gave such an obvious clue. A drapers shop on Rue Saint-Jacques...

Standing up, he put his payment on the table by his mug and nodded at Monsieur Dupain as he left, a new plan already forming in his mind.

* * *

**16th August 1788**

Marinette was in a foul mood. 

It had been days since she’d last seen Chat. Days of being on high alert every time she was sent to go on errands, wondering if he might pull her into an alley as he had done in the past. Days of trying to hide her disappointment when another trip to market went by without seeing him, even from a distance. 

She’d heard from Constance that Damocles had begun to host meetings every day but she couldn’t even go to those. Somehow, her papa had found out about her nightly excursions and had been firm in his resolve that she was not to leave her rooms at night. To make absolutely sure, he put her to work in the bakery with maman instead of at the inn. The rigorous routine of getting up early enough to ensure there was bread for customers at breakfast and the constant work all day to ensure they didn’t run out whilst preparing for the next morning tired her out enough that come nightfall, sneaking out to go to a meeting wasn’t even a thought in her head. 

Still, even though she was unable to meet with Chat, she couldn’t push him completely out of her mind. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from dreaming of him, for example. 

She’d lost count of how many times she’d found herself reliving the way his lips had felt against hers, the way his hands cupped her face. Only in her dreams, he didn’t rear away from her so quickly, pulling her forward instead until she was held flush against him so that they could kiss more deeply, more passionately. They’d only kissed for a minute, but it had felt so _good_ , and Chat had clearly enjoyed it too, if the way he’d hummed against her lips had been any indication.

It was these thoughts that embarrassed her and Marinette was glad that Chat didn’t come to find her. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hold herself back, and _then_ what would he think of her? He’d probably think she was a terrible harlot, throwing herself at him in a way that no respectable young lady should. And if Chat behaved as though nothing had happened between them, she’d have confirmation for what she already knew, deep down. 

Could anyone really blame her for wanting to pretend a little longer? Pretend that he hadn’t regretted what had happened? 

Especially when Constance insisted on asking strange questions about whether or not Marinette would recognise Chat without his signature black mask. The questions had been harmless enough, but they’d caused her heart to constrict in her chest. Because even though she liked to think she would; she’d never know for sure. What if he behaved differently outside the mask, when he was himself? What if the mask itself was a persona? 

She’d never know.

To distract herself, she’d spent the night poring over the dress patterns Constance had bought her, trying to decipher the many diagrams until she went cross eyed. And when she’d finally collapsed in bed, she’d dreamt of Chat Noir.

Again. 

The dream had begun as previous ones had, with her wrapped in an embrace with Chat Noir but it had quickly turned sour.

When they’d pulled away, his eyes weren’t soft, but full of scorn. _“Well I knew it would be easy, but even I didn’t think you’d surrender so quickly.”_ His lips had twisted in a cruel smirk. _“You didn’t really think that I_ cared _did you?”_ Cupping her face once more and stroking her cheek with his thumb. _“There’s a reason why I wear the mask you know.”_ He’d laughed at the way she shrunk away from him, leaning in closer to whisper; _“because without it, I wouldn’t be caught_ dead _out in public with you. And you know what the best part is? You could look, and look, and look all over Paris, but you’ll never know who I really am.”_ He grinned. _“Isn’t that_ fantastic _?”_

She’d woken up in a cold sweat, heart thundering in her chest and she’d scrambled to her window, throwing open the shutters to let in the cool night air, half hoping to see Chat Noir waiting outside her window ready to assuage her fears and reassure her that he would never be so unkind. 

But the courtyard was empty. 

Taking all this into account, Marinette thought her bad mood was very much justified. Of course, her parents didn’t know this, and maman was starting to look rather concerned for the bread dough Marinette was kneading more aggressively than was probably necessary. So when papa had called for her, sounding confused, maman was quick to shoo her out of the kitchen, practically shoving her out the door. 

“Yes, papa?”

“This just arrived for you.” Papa stood behind the front desk, holding a large parcel. 

Perplexed, Marinette went over to examine the packaging. “Are you sure it’s for me?” she asked, even as she saw her name written across the wrapping in a curling script.

“Certainly,” papa assured her, turning the parcel over so she could see. “Look here, this note says it is to be given to the daughter of Tom Dupain. Unless i’m mistaken and there is another Tom Dupain in this establishment, this is for you.”

Under her papa’s curious eye, Marinette carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal a bolt of velvet cloth, well made and expensive in the deepest claret red. She gasped, running her hands over the fabric, her mind racing. She’d never felt something so rich, so beautiful. Who could have sent it to her? And why?

“Does it say who it’s from, papa?” Her voice was breathless. Rubbing the material between her fingers, she felt how thick it was—this would be a _dream_ to work with!—and her fingers bumped against something hard. Frowning slightly, Marinette pulled out a piece of parchment. _A note._

“The messenger said that you would know,” he sounded wary. “Marinette, where did this come from?” 

_Meet me outside when you get this. C.N_ . the note read. C.N...C.N... _who…?_

“What’s been going on with you?” papa continued. “First, sneaking out at night and now expensive gifts being sent?” 

Suddenly, Chat’s face flashed in her mind. _C.N-Chat Noir!_ Oh that stupid boy! “What? No! I-” Thinking quickly, Marinette forced her voice to sound light. “Oh, papa I completely forgot! Madame Daquin said that as part of my training I am to sew the clothing of her next customer. I didn’t realise that the materials would be delivered _here_ though or I would have told you!” Clasping her hands in front of her, she pleaded. “May I go to see her so that I can find out what needs to be made?”

Anxiously, she waited for his response, breathing a sigh of relief when he softened. “Of course, dear. Now don’t be too long, alright?”

“Thank you, papa!”

Rushing outside, Marinette seethed. That boy! What was he _thinking?_ Sending things for her to her _home?_ She might have defused papa’s suspicion but he’d certainly be watching her even more closely now. 

She didn’t have to go far before Chat revealed himself, stepping out from a nearby alley and pulling her into it with him. “Did you like my gift?”

“I can’t _believe you!”_ she hissed, a small part of her relishing in the way Chat’s eyes widened in surprise when she advanced on him furiously. “Sending things like _that_ through my _papa!_ What was it for anyway? _”_

“It was an apology!”

“What?”

“An apology.” Chat scratched the back of his head, grimacing. “For the other night.”

Marinette stilled, all the fire leaving her at once. It was happening. The rejection. “There’s no need for an apology.” Even her voice sounded dull and Chat looked at her, concerned. 

“There’s _every_ need for an apology!” he exclaimed. “I took advantage of you, and I shouldn’t have.”

“So...you regret it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it was implied.” 

“No. It wasn’t, actually.” 

“The act of apologising for ‘taking advantage’ of me,” Marinette’s voice wobbled, “implies the presence of regret simply by default.” 

Tilting his head curiously, Chat frowned. “You really believe that?” She nodded, avoiding his gaze. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. 

“Well you’re right,” he nodded to himself. “I do have regrets.” 

Marinette’s heart sank as Chat began to tick things off on his fingers. She couldn’t help but be reminded of her nightmare; could only hope that the real Chat would not be so cruel. 

“Do I regret _how_ it happened? Yes.” She looked up at him in confusion, but unlike in her nightmare, Chat’s smile was kind. “I regret not asking your permission, as a gentleman should,” he continued, “but do I regret _kissing_ you?” 

Chat advanced on her, making a show of thought. His voice lowered. “Never.” He stepped closer as she stumbled backwards until she hit the wall of the alleyway. His eyes darkened and he pressed his arms against the wall, caging her in. “Do you know how many hours I have spent thinking about that kiss?” 

Heart racing, Marinette shook her head, her eyes flickering between his eyes and mouth. He caught her and his lips curled in a smirk, as he ducked his head lower to whisper in her ear. “How much I wanted to kiss you again?” His breath fanned against her skin and Marinette shivered imperceptibly before meeting his gaze head on. 

“Then why don’t you?” 

So he did. 

And where before she had been too surprised to reciprocate in full, this time Marinette was prepared. When his mouth slanted over hers, his hands cupping her neck, her hands ran up his chest, clutching at his coat to pull him closer before moving up to skim his shoulders and tangle her fingers in his hair. She tugged at the golden strands, marvelling at its softness and he groaned against her mouth, pressing harder against her lips. 

When they pulled away, they were both smiling and Chat began to pepper kisses against her jaw. “I never did thank you,” he murmured, working his way down her neck, leaving soft, open mouthed kisses against her flushed skin, “for attempting to defend my honour the other day.”

Marinette’s eyes shot wide open. “Have you been spying on me?!” 

“That depends.” He grinned up at her. “Do you really think I’m an idiot?”

Marinette stared. “Wha-,” she slapped his chest. “You _were_!”

He didn’t deny it, simply pulling away to stare at her more fully. “Well, do you?” 

“ _Yes_!” She sniffed though she couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“Well I had to find out if you hated me _somehow._ ” 

“I could never.” The brief respite from Chat’s mouth against hers allowed Marinette some semblance of thought and she tugged at his hair again so that he’d look at her. “Are you really a highwayman, like they say?”

“I am. Does that bother you?” He asked, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“No.” she breathed, and pulled him close. "But they say that a kiss from a lady brings good luck, and" she pressed her lips to his. "I take my duties very seriously." 

As soon as the words left her mouth they both froze, eyes wide. _Lucky kisses?_ Marinette mouthed the words to herself, her cheeks reddening in mortification. Chat’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and she tried to bury her face in his chest, whining in protest when he grasped her gently by the chin to stop her. 

Rather than making fun of her like she expected, he stroked her cheek softly, making her breath hitch in her throat. Chat’s eyes were bright, filled with mirth. "I'll have to come by often then," he dipped his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "to replenish my supply." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cut Marinette's line about luck when I first wrote this chapter but honestly it's just too good. (And Adrien gets to be smooth for once in his life). Also, I don't know why, but I really love the exchange of dialogue about implied regret.
> 
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	7. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Théo continues to be a creep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not midnight yet so _technically _it's still Friday. Shhh__

**Paris, October 1788**

Théo sighed and let the stable door slam against the wall. Immediately, the giggling stopped, replaced with frantic shushing and even more muffled laughter before the back door creaked open and they escaped out into the innyard. 

It sickened him.

The way they’d sneak around hand in hand like children playing a game. The way that  _ criminal  _ acted like he wasn’t ruining a respectable young girl's life, allowing Marinette to sully her reputation through her association with him. 

These days jealousy burned in his chest more often than not, especially whenever he caught a glimpse of Marinette and Chat Noir. Only two months ago he’d thought he’d put an end to whatever burgeoning courtship had been developing between the two of them when he’d gone to Tom in concern to report seeing his daughter leaving the house after dark. 

He’d been so glad when the next night passed without a visit from that thief and Marinette had stayed put in her room where she belonged. Where she would be  _ safe _ . 

Of course he should have known it was too good to be true. The respite had only lasted a few days, not nearly enough time for him to divert Marinette’s attention back to himself, though he’d certainly tried. Whenever he had a free moment he'd spent it in the bakery talking to Marinette, trying to get her to open up to him the way he’d seen her do so with Chat Noir. 

He knew he was at a disadvantage since he only got the chance to talk to her while she worked, but there had been  _ progress _ damn it, and he’d found it especially endearing when Marinette kept insisting that she couldn’t  _ possibly  _ be good company just because her work had her flitting around the bakery kitchen; too busy to stay in one place for more than a few seconds at a time. 

He assured her that he didn’t mind at all, laughing at the way she’d shake her head with a sigh, or roll her eyes playfully in response. Privately, Théo couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting a glimpse of what marriage to Marinette would look like, and if so, it was  _ perfect _ . 

Until it wasn’t. Now, when he went into the bakery, her eyes slid over him like he was just another face in the crowd. It hurt, more than he liked to admit. 

Still, he found himself making his way to the bakery anyway, even though he’d just heard Marinette in the stables with Chat. It never hurt to check, after all.

And she  _ was  _ there. Or at least, she ran into his chest just as he stepped inside, a picnic basket on her arm. She barely spared him a glance, muttering a quick apology before whirling out the door and leaving him to gape after her. 

“That girl,” Madame Dupain shook her head fondly. “She never slows down, does she?” When Théo didn’t respond she waved a hand, beckoning him closer. “Come now Théo, since you’re here, why don’t you have lunch with us? Tom should be arriving shortly.”

Tom joined them just as his wife placed another slice of bread on Théo’s plate. At her husband's questioning glance, she shook her head and he laughed, sitting down next to him. “Has she ‘gone to see Constance’ again?” 

“Indeed she has.”

“She went yesterday as well. And the day before that.” 

Munching slowly on his bread, Théo looked between the couple, confused. He was unprepared then, for Tom to turn to him suddenly and ask casually; “Do  _ you  _ know anything about this boy our daughter is seeing?”

Théo choked mid swallow, erupting in a loud coughing fit. Madame Dupain was quick to pass him a glass of water and he took it gratefully, taking a deep gulp of the cool liquid. Over his head, Madame berated her husband and Théo’s mind raced. 

How long had they known? And  _ should _ he tell them what he knew? They didn’t sound particularly angry about the situation, which he had been counting on as a last resort if things went too far, but if they  _ accepted  _ it instead...

“What?” Tom said defensively. “Even you have to admit she’s a terrible liar, Sabine. I just thought he might have seen something.” Clapping Théo on the back hard enough to make him choke again, Tom asked; “Well. Have you?”

“N-no, sir,” Théo said. “I had no idea.” 

“I  _ told  _ you. The only reason we noticed is because we are her parents.” Madame Dupain said exasperatedly. “Marinette is sensible, I’m sure she’ll let us meet the boy sooner or later. Besides, you remember what it is to be young and keeping secrets. Once the thrill wears off she’ll tell us herself.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.” He grinned. “We  _ did _ sneak around rather a lot didn’t we?”

He couldn’t listen to this any longer. “Excuse me.” Shoving the last piece of bread in his mouth, Théo scraped back his chair, waving off Tom’s protests without looking as he left.

It was clear now that Tom was too much of a softhearted old fool to curb his daughter's freedom. Did he not care that his only child was ruining herself, day in and day out? That if word got out, it would be  _ his _ name that would be soiled as well? The man who allowed his daughter to cavort with a common criminal instead of putting a stop to it as any father should? He’d be a laughing stock and yet he did not seem to care at all. 

No.

Théo would have to take matters into his own hands. 

He was the only one who  _ truly _ cared for Marinette and he knew that now more than ever. Once he got rid of his rival for good, Marinette would see that her relationship with him was mere infatuation, and she’d finally see him. Théo. The only man who cared enough to save her from herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is is weird that I kinda enjoy writing Théo chapters, just because of how delusional he is? And also outsider perspective, which is always fun. The next few chapters are probably my favourites, I can't wait till next week when you guys get to read them!
> 
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	8. Plagg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their relationship grows, Marinette worries about Chat and the dangers of his work. Adrien introduces her to a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I don't know if this was clear before, but generally, Adrien only transforms when he's out doing his highway robbery thing. When he goes to see Marinette, or visit the orphanages or whatever, he just wears a mask. 
> 
> Also, this and the next chapter are honestly my favourites. Enjoy!

**Paris, October 1788**

It became a game. The two of them stealing moments here and there-in the stables, in a dark corner of the innyard, a narrow alleyway in the market. But her favourite days  _ by far _ were when Chat would meet her in the morning and they would while away the hours in each other's arms. Some days he would bring his horse and they would ride out of the city together, reveling in the excitement and secrecy of their relationship. 

Marinette took full advantage of the freedom her ‘commission’ gave her to get away from the inn as well as finally returning the favour to Constance, using her name as her own had been used in Constance’s courtship with Charles. Back then, she had envied Constance’s experience, but hadn’t fully understood it, wondering why she would risk her reputation for a silly flirtation, but  _ now… _

Now, when Chat’s face would light up in joy at the sight of her, his arms opening instinctively to receive her and draw her into a kiss that made her tingle all the way down to her toes; when he’d crow triumphantly after (finally) successfully tying a ribbon in her hair; when he’d kiss the spot between her eyebrows and rest his chin on her head as she buried her face in his chest, wrapping her up in his embrace and just holding her for a few moments more before she went back home...Marinette finally understood, just as Constance said she would. 

If her parents noticed the extra spring in her step, or the way she hummed cheerfully while she worked, they didn’t comment, though she saw papa exchange knowing glances with maman from time to time. These days, nothing could dampen her spirits. 

Well. Almost nothing.

Situated as it was at the edge of Paris, the Rose and Crown Inn and bakery, was a popular establishment well known for hosting many wealthy travelers and merchants who wished to rest there after long journeys before conducting their business in the city proper. Even the occasional noble might find himself at their inn, and this fact was a point of incredible pride for her papa. 

That also meant that many of the travelers who now came through their inn often arrived bedraggled and irate, bearing tales of highway robbery; of being held up by the ever elusive thief Chat Noir. 

She’d grown accustomed to their grumblings, hardly caring that pompous old merchants had been swindled out of a few coins. But the anger was spreading like fire and it filled her with fear. 

“It’s completely atrocious!” one of the guests—who had been humiliated by Chat in front of his wife—exclaimed angrily. “Is a man to fear travelling in his own carriage? These roads are supposed to be safe and instead some…hooligan has taken it upon himself to rob good folk who earned their money honestly.” Slamming his mug of ale on the table, the drink sloshed over the sides and onto his hands as he looked around at the other men who were commiserating their misfortune with him. “Rest assured, when he is caught, I will  _ personally _ pay to have him sent to the gallows!”

Biting back a retort about where  _ his  _ money came from, Marinette turned and hurried into the back room where she clutched the back of a chair, her head bowed over her shoulders as she tried to calm her racing heart. 

This man who would so readily spend his coin to end someone else's life had no way of knowing that his stolen gold would be improving the lives of others. He did not know that Chat gave away more than half of what he stole. Gave it away to orphanages across the city, buying sweets and trinkets for the children while he gave money to their owners so that they may keep a roof over their heads. How could he know? 

How could he know that stories about Chat Noir spread fast in Paris, and that he was well loved by the people? 

Why, just the other day she’d seen some children playing at being him with wooden swords, their giddy laughter and shouts filling the street. Many turned a blind eye to how he got his money when he was more charitable with it than the people who were  _ supposed  _ to care for the people; but these were the people of Paris, who rallied around those who needed help and no stranger could understand that. 

And that was what scared her. With every angry traveler who burst through their doors, she felt her heart stop in her chest and she’d hardly dare to breath until she heard confirmation that Chat had gotten away unscathed. 

Because what if something were to happen to him one day? She didn’t know who the person behind the mask was, and she hadn’t yet asked, but what if he was fatally injured? How would she find out? Would he send word to her? Or would she spend the rest of her days waiting, hoping for the return of a man who had already been buried, made anonymous in a paupers grave? 

* * *

Adrien was seriously reconsidering his policy of offering duels. Or at least, suggesting them when he wasn’t actually transformed. 

“Did you know that there is a reward for your capture?” His opponent—a man only a few years older than him—lunged forward, missing only by a hairs breadth as Adrien parried and deflected the blow. “And I intend it to be mine.” 

“Oh I do so hate to disappoint.” Feinting to the side, Adrien blocked the sword again, ignoring the way his wrist screamed at him from the pressure. Gritting his teeth, he pushed harder against the other sword, forcing the man to relent with a growl. 

He received only a few seconds respite before the man charged at him again with a roar. Sighing, Adrien countered the blade and for a while the only sound was that of their swords clanging together and their heavy breaths as they fought. 

Parrying the blows with ease, Adrien noticed that his opponent was no longer trying to disarm him and in fact seemed to be trying to draw the fight out for longer. He sprung forward, aiming to drive his sword between the other man’s ribs but he was quick to counter the attack, responding with a flurry of blows before finally going for Adrien’s head. 

Bending backwards to avoid the blade, Adrien hissed when the metal grazed his neck. Instinctively, he bought his free hand up to touch the wound and that was all the opening his adversary needed; swiping his legs out from underneath him so that he fell to the ground with a grunt, his sword slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground. 

Shaking his head, Adrien blinked to clear his head, black spots dancing across his vision. The ground beneath him seemed to shake, sending vibrations through his body. Glancing back, he saw several men riding down the road on horseback, swiftly clearing the distance between them. Men wearing the silver uniform of his father's guards. 

Of course. Another one of his father’s attempts to catch him. A staged ambush this time? Father was certainly getting more creative. Adrien was impressed. Still, he had no desire to get caught today.

“Now, now monsieur,” Adrien bared his teeth in a feral grin, sweaty hair falling into his face. “This duel was one on one.” Scrambling up, he drew back and in one fluid motion pulled out the dagger at his back and threw it. Startled, the man ducked and Adrien kicked at him with both legs, springing up and grabbing his sword just as the other man fell. Panting, he set the tip of his blade to the man's throat. “There is no honour in cheating.” 

“That’s rich,” the man spat, “coming from a  _ thief. _ ” 

“Well, yes, I suppose,” Adrien mused, “but you lost the duel, did you not? I rather think that entitles me to my spoils, don’t you?” 

Mounting his horse, he paused as he passed by the felled man. Looking down at him, Adrien rummaged in his cloak and produced a single gold coin, dropping it by his head. “There’s your reward.” He winked. "Spend it wisely, now!” 

Plagg popped up out of his pocket as soon as he arrived back at his room, glaring disapprovingly at him without saying a word. Adrien rolled his eyes, droning; “yes, Plagg I know I shouldn’t fight out of the suit, now stop looking at me like that.”

“Someone has to,” Plagg exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I don’t like doing it any more than you do, you know. Gods, you’re turning me into Tikki!” The kwami shuddered. “I’m not supposed to  _ care!”  _ He sounded indignant at the mere thought and Adrien chuckled tiredly, reaching out to scratch at him between the ears. 

“Oh hush now. I’ll buy you that expensive cheese you like, alright?” 

Plagg didn’t speak for a long moment, but the promise of his favourite cheese, combined with Adrien’s gentle petting made him crack. “Fine,” he acquiesced eventually. “Now are you going to sleep or not? I don’t think your  _ lady friend _ —,” he dodged the half hearted swipe Adrien made at him and flew across the room, “—will appreciate you falling asleep on her later.” 

_ Marinette.  _

Adrien fell back on his bed with a happy sigh. Just the thought of her was enough to brighten his spirits. Not even the terrible, lumpy mattress that worsened the aches in his body could diminish his good humour. 

These past months with her had been, without a doubt, the best of his life. Everytime he was with her, his heart skipped a beat and he couldn’t help but kiss her as soon as she was in his arms, confirming with her touch that it was real, that she was not simply a beautiful dream. 

It still amazed him that she wanted him, actually  _ cared  _ for him and she’d caught him staring in awe more than once. Not since his mother's passing had he been shown so much easy affection and every day he spent with her only reaffirmed what Adrien already knew. 

He was in love. 

The revelation hadn’t struck at once, though Adrien would be the first to admit he’d been smitten from the first. Rather, it had come to him over the course of a hundred different touches, a hundred different meetings, a hundred different conversations, until one night he had come home, his door slamming shut behind him and said to Plagg “I love her.”

His kwami had been decidedly unimpressed, giving him a look as if to say ‘that was obvious’, and Adrien had tucked the knowledge deep in his heart, waiting for the right moment to tell her. 

And until that moment arrived, he would tell her with his actions, tell her with every kiss, every hug, every brush of their hands,  _ I love you, I love you, I love you.  _

* * *

Chat was limping when he arrived at their usual meeting place.

He tried to hide it, and it was indeed barely noticeable, but Marinette still saw. She had gotten so used to scanning him over for any injuries that she’d become an expert at noticing the slightest difference in him. And his neck—

“What happened?” Her eyes widened and she gasped, bringing a hand up to his neck, hesitating just over the wound. 

“…a mark took up my offer of a duel.” Chat scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I really ought to stop suggesting it.” 

“Chat,” Marinette couldn’t help the tears that sprung into her eyes. “Why must you provoke them so? Isn’t it enough that you rob them?” 

“Hey, hey, my lady.” Chat cupped her face in his hands, brushing away her tears. “What’s the matter?”

“You!” She cried. “Why are you so-so  _ careless!”  _ Marinette sniffled, looking up at him with wet eyes. “I know you are capable but—,”

“—But what?”

“But what if you meet someone  _ more  _ capable? Someone angry enough, aggressive enough, to win?” 

“My darling, I can take care of myself, you needn’t worry—,” Chat soothed her, drawing her into his arms.

“And what if others get involved?” she asked. “These are  _ rich people _ , Chat! People with influence! Their voices are  _ heard _ - what if-what if—,” her breath hitched. “What if one too many people you rob complain and the King sets a bounty on your head?”

“Technically there already is a bounty out for me.” He corrected her and Marinette gaped at him, ripping herself from his embrace. 

“That doesn’t make things better! Now people will be more motivated to fight you!” she shrieked.

“They haven’t caught me yet.” Chat shrugged. “Your lucky kisses really are miraculous, my lady. Nothing will happen to me.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“My darling, it  _ won’t—,” _

“You  _ can’t _ know that! Everytime someone you’ve robbed comes through the inn I fear that it will be the day I hear that they have fought you and won and left you to die in the street-and-and- I don’t know you behind the mask and what if one day something happens to you and I never find out, and I never get the chance to tell you I  _ love you, what then?”  _ The words escaped her in a rush and she stood there, panting as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“Marinette,” Chats voice was calm, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “That won’t happen. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because…” He hesitated briefly before sighing, a smile playing about his lips. “Plagg, I think you should come out.”

For a second, nothing happened, and then…a small black thing flew out from Chat’s pocket, coming to hover in front of her. “I’m Plagg.” He held out a tiny paw.

Marinette shrieked.

Or, she tried to but the thing- Plagg-zipped forward and covered her mouth with his paws. “Hey none of that!” His eyes were luminous green, Marinette noted dimly, with no whites at all and…were those cat ears? Bringing a trembling hand up, she ran her finger over his head, marveling at his soft black fur. 

“…What,” she cleared her throat, “what are you?”

“I’m a kwami. God of destruction.”

Marinette’s eyebrows rose to her hairline “You’re a…God.” She couldn’t quite hide the note of disbelief in her voice and Chat muffled a snicker when Plagg turned to glare at him.

“Why do you all react like that?” he demanded. “Is it really so hard to believe?” 

“You’re a god who eats cheese,” Chat deadpanned, “and enjoys belly rubs.” 

“I enjoy the finer things in life, that’s true,” he sniffed, turning his back on Chat. “My Chosen likes you, and what makes him happy makes me happy, so we’re going to be stuck with each other but you don’t have to worry. I can protect him.” 

Marinette looked between the two of them dubiously. “Not that I don’t believe you…” she began slowly, “but..how?” 

Chat smirked. “I thought you’d never ask. Plagg?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Claws out!”

Marinette shielded her eyes as a green flash lit up the air. When she opened them again, Chat was still standing in front of her, though he looked… different. 

His shirt had been replaced with a sleek black frock cat that went to his knees, over a forest green waistcoat-the only colour in an otherwise dark ensemble. His hands were encased in what looked to be black gloves though the tips of his fingers were now clawed. The mask he wore had changed as well-there was no string tying it to his head-rather it seemed to be fused to his face, covering him from the brow down to the tip of his nose. A whip sat on his hip and his rapier was now sheathed at his back rather than his waist. 

Perhaps the most noticeable changes, however, were his eyes, completely green now except for the pupils and the cat ears that sat in his hair. 

“Nobody can recognise me like this. Plagg is inside my ring,” Chat held out his hand to show that his silver ring had turned black too, with the image of a green paw print stamped across the face. “And I can channel his power of destruction if I need to. This makes me  _ strong _ , my lady. And more than capable of looking after myself.” He flexed his claws, showing off how sharp they were, but Marinette was more preoccupied with the extra ears. 

At first glance, they looked to be made of some kind of fabric, but stepping closer, she saw them twitch and couldn’t help but bring a hand up to touch them. Chat shuddered at the touch and she drew back, alarmed. 

“Are they real?!”

“Plagg is a small cat, after all.” Chat shrugged. “Some things transfer over. Like this whip, for example.” He gestured at the weapon. “When I first transformed, it was...attached to my backside.” He grimaced. “But a robber with a tail hardly inspires fear now, does he? So we compromised, since it  _ is  _ a useful weapon. I still wear a hat to cover the ears though.” 

Stepping forward again, Marinette ran her hand over his shoulders, admiring the way his coat clung to him, almost like a second skin. It was certainly flattering…her eyes narrowed. “Do you see many women out on the streets, when you’re dressed like this?” 

Chat blinked. “My lady are you  _ jealous?”  _ she avoided his eyes, busying herself with examining the rest of his coat, looking for any discernible seams. He let her for a few moments more before putting a finger underneath her chin and gently lifting her face to meet his. “Well?” she could see the laughter dancing in his eyes. 

“Of course I am!” Marinette said crossly. “How many rich, beautiful women do you think there are who admire you when you look so dashing? Who might lust after you?” 

Chat grinned. “You think me dashing?”

“I think you’re full of it,” Marinette grumbled, swatting at his chest. He caught her hand, pulling it towards him to lay it flat against his chest. 

“You feel that?” His heartbeat thumped against her palm, calm and steady. “This.” he said. “This beats for you. Only you.” 

Marinette stared at him, her mouth dry. “There is no-one that could turn my eye, no matter how beautiful they may be, because…” Chat ducked his head to kiss her sweetly on the lips before drawing back, resting his forehead against hers. He looked into her eyes. “Because I love you too.” 

_ Too?  _ When had she— “Oh!” Marinette exclaimed, clapping a hand to her mouth. Chat laughed delightedly, pulling back to look at her fondly.

“I was wondering when you’d realise.” 

“Noooo,” Marinette moaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I told you like that! That’s not romantic  _ at all!” _

“On the contrary,” Chat said, “I think it was perfect.” 

“It doesn’t matter what  _ you _ think!” She exclaimed. “I ruined it, and what will happen when our children ask about how we fell in love and I have to tell them I told you I loved you because I was angry that you were being reckless with your life and I was scared I wouldn’t get the chance to-,” Marinette paused suddenly, lifting her head. “Oh that is rather romantic, isn’t it? Chat?” 

Chat looked thunderstruck. His grip on her waist had slackened and he stared at her with a strange look in his eye. “You—” he cleared his throat, starting again. “You want to have children with me?” 

Marinette gaped at him in horror. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she keep her stupid mouth _shut_ for once? Chat was still staring, so she nodded haltingly, biting her lip. 

What if he didn’t want children? What if she scared him away with her planning for a future with him? What if—

She was broken out of her thoughts by Chat taking her into his arms and kissing her with a fervour that ignited her blood and sent her mind swirling. His lips parted against hers to deepen the kiss and she gasped into his mouth, bringing her hands up to fist in his hair. 

“You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met,” he murmured, pulling back. His eyes were hooded, dark with desire. “And I love you.” Chat smiled suddenly, so brightly it made her heart skip a beat. “I don’t think I shall ever tire of saying that.” He leaned down to peck her lips once, “my darling,” twice, “my lady,” three times more, smiling against her lips, “...my  _ love. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is totally right to worry about other women swooning over Chat tbh. When I was researching highwaymen, I found this out about this guy, Claude Duval, who was a French highwayman in England and when he was hanged, his memorial at the church says:  
>  _Here lies DuVall: Reder, if male thou art,  
>  Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.  
> Much havoc has he made of both; for all  
> Men he made to stand, and women he made to fall  
> The second Conqueror of the Norman race,  
> Knights to his arm did yield, and ladies to his face.  
> Old Tyburn’s glory; England’s illustrious Thief,  
> Du Vall, the ladies’ joy; Du Vall, the ladies’ grief. ___
> 
> And that is just so funny to me but also I can totally imagine Chat having the same type of reputation, inadvertently charming a whole bunch of women while he robs their fathers and husbands lmao
> 
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	9. Under the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiding from his fathers men, Adrien finds himself at Marinette's inn. The two of them share a special night together underneath the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me so soft, you guys. _so soft_

**Paris, December, 1788**

Peering around the corner Adrien spotted his kwami zipping down the bustling street, up and around people on his way back to him. Once he was close enough, he snagged him out of the air and drew further into the alleyway, away from prying eyes. 

“What’s the verdict?” He asked Plagg, who looked up at him solemnly from where he was cupped in Adrien’s hands. 

“Four surrounding the inn, two rented rooms next to yours and and another two watching the entrance from across the street. I’m fairly sure there are a few men having drinks watching for you as well.”

Adrien swore. 

Ever since his father’s men had attempted to ambush him, he’d been more careful about his robberies, and for the most part, no longer offered to duel a mark for their gold. It proved to be an effective strategy for discovering who his father had hired, especially when certain men floundered because he did not provide the option, as though they had been expecting it. Some even attempted to keep him there by demanding he duel them themselves. 

He usually laid low for a few days after those encounters. But father was getting desperate, it seemed. Adrien hadn’t been able to rent a room in the same place for more than a week at a time; not now when father was sending his men to search every inn in the city to find him. He’d managed to evade capture but it was only a matter of time. 

“What do I do, Plagg?” Adrien slid down the wall, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “If they’ve got this many at the place they know I’m staying at, then they’ll _definitely_ have people watching the other inns I’ve been to. Where can I go? I’ve been to every inn in the city!”

“Not _every_ inn.” Plagg’s voice was quiet and Adrien looked up. Plagg’s eyes were serious. “There is one place you haven’t stayed.”

“No.” Adrien shifted, glaring at his kwami. “How can you even suggest that?” 

“Nobody has seen you around there during the day, and it’s not like your father has publicised the search for you that would give someone an incentive to turn you in—” 

“I _won’t_ put Marinette in danger. This is not negotiable.” 

“She won’t _be_ in any danger!” Plagg threw his paws up in exasperation. “Not if you go as yourself. Use a fake name if you want to, but it’s not like anyone is going to recognise Adrien Agreste. Nobody at the inn would even _know_ what the magistrate's son looks like, and you know it.”

Adrien hated it. Every fibre of his being rebelled against the idea, but he knew that Plagg was right. He hated that too. 

Throughout their courtship, he’d sought to protect Marinette from the more unsavoury parts of his line of work, and though she knew his father was looking for him, she didn’t know the extent father was willing to go to get what he wanted. And he’d wanted so desperately to keep it that way. He could never forgive himself if he put Marinette at such direct risk, bringing the full wrath of his father to her doorstep. But surely a few hours...

Sensing Adrien’s weakening resolve, Plagg pressed on. “You don’t have to stay for long, even just a night is enough. Until we can figure things out.” 

Blowing out a breath, he stood up. “Fine. One night,” he warned. “One night. No more.” 

Adrien took a meandering, circuitous route to the inn, sticking to alleyways and smaller side streets. Plagg might call him paranoid but he would not take any chances. Not where Marinette was involved; however indirectly that may be. 

Looking at the sign above the door, he exhaled, relaxing his shoulders. _I can do this_ , he thought, but his feet refused to move, keeping him stuck in place. Even Plagg’s ‘helpful’ prodding had no effect on his frozen state as his mind raced through all the terrible things that might happen if he went through the door. 

His father’s men could choose to ambush the inn, ransacking every room in their pursuit of him, causing untold damage to the property that the Dupains would have to repair with money out of their own pockets. 

Marinette—sweet, fierce Marinette would attempt to protect him, of that he had no doubt, and then if she got hurt? Because she _would_ —the guards wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, not if they had their quarry in sight. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to her, how could he knowingly put her at so much risk? 

No. He couldn’t do it. 

Spinning on his heel, Adrien turned to leave when a hand on his arm stopped him. Looking to the side, he recognised the redheaded girl as Marinette’s friend, Constance. “It _is_ you!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up and his stomach lurched. “What are you doing here during the day again? Does Marinette know you without the mask yet?” she paused. “No, she would have told me if Chat, I mean you—” her babbling was cut off by him pulling her to the side, away from the inns entrance. 

“ _Don’t say my name!”_ he hissed, releasing her just as suddenly as he’d grabbed her. Constance didn’t seem put out, rather, her grin got bigger. 

“I’m right, aren’t I? It’s you?”

Adrien cursed under his breath. “Yes,” he said. “But you _can’t_ tell anyone you saw me, do you understand? How did you find out anyway?”

“I’ve always been perceptive,” Constance shrugged. “You came here once before, remember?” 

He did. “Look,” he began again, “swear that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. It is of the _utmost_ importance.” 

Recognising the seriousness in his voice, Constance sobered, nodding in agreement. “Of course. I know your work is dangerous. But why are you here? Marinette told me you only visit her at the inn at night.”

“That’s right. But I have nowhere else to go, and I had thought…” he trailed off, waving his hands helplessly. “There are people after me, and they have stationed themselves outside every inn they know I’ve stayed at. This is the only place…” Adrien shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I was just leaving. I won’t—I _can’t_ risk putting Marinette in danger.”

He began to leave again when Constance called after him “wait!” Hurrying to his side, she said; “all I know of you is what Marinette has told me, and what people have to say about you, and...you seem a decent sort.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “Thank you? But what does that have to do wit—”

“I can help you!” Constance interrupted him. “Not right this minute of course, stay the night here if you must, but there is a family who recently moved away from the city. Their house is empty and I could...help you get in and you could stay there a while.”

Adrien stared. The offer seemed almost too good to be true, but he couldn’t sleep on the streets forever-it wouldn’t be too long before father would have his men patrolling the streets if they weren’t already. “That-that would be perfect, actually. Thank you,” he said again, sincerely. “I appreciate your help.”

“Just—one more thing,” Constance hesitated, fiddling with the shawl around her shoulders. “This danger you speak of-you won’t let anything happen to her, to Marinette, will you?”

“No!” Adrien startled himself with the ferocity in his voice. “No! Of course not! There will be no danger to Marinette if I can help it. But if I can’t...rest assured, I would protect her with my life.”

* * *

“There you are!” Marinette stumbled as her maman shoved some blankets into her arms. “Will you take these to the gentleman in room seven?” She didn’t wait for a response, hurrying back into the kitchen. Sighing, Marinette went to do as maman asked.

As the winter months continued, they’d seen an influx of guests eager to get out of the cold as soon as they entered the city. More and more of these guests had begun requesting extra bedding as well as they sought to keep warm. 

It made her think of Chat Noir. Of the gift hidden in the trunk in her bedroom. She’d never worked with velvet before, and it had been a difficult task, but she’d finished it, finally and as the days grew colder she was constantly reminded that she couldn’t put off giving it to him much longer. Not when it could be put to practical use. 

But every day, she said she’d give it to him, and every day she changed her mind. Marinette didn’t know much about his life when he took off the mask, but she knew he hailed from a rich family and what would he think of her giving him such a simple, homemade gift? 

Perhaps if she added a bit more embroidery, in a silver thread…she could spend the night on it and then give it to him when she saw him tomorrow. 

Decision made, Marinette stopped in front of the guests room and knocked briskly on the door. “Monsieur?” When there was no response, she knocked again, harder, tapping her foot impatiently. “Monsieur you requested these blankets?” 

Just as she was going to knock again, the door opened a crack and a hand grasped hers, pulling her into the room. The blankets fell from her arms as the door slammed behind her and she set eyes on just _who_ had grabbed her. “Chat!?” was all she managed before her exclamation was cut short with a kiss. 

“I was hoping they’d send you,” he murmured against her lips, pulling her against him and cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Marinette teased, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the breathlessness in her voice. Chat laughed thickly, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a groan from deep in her throat. 

Marinette looked at him through heavy lids. “Chat—” she began, sighing softly when he began to pepper soft kisses against the column of her neck. “Chat!” Marinette said again, louder.

“Hm?” 

With great effort, Marinette extricated herself from him, moving away out of his reach. “I have to work! The dinner rush is just beginning and I’m needed downstairs.”

“Very well,” Chat said, stepping towards her again and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll wait for you.” 

“Won’t you come and have dinner with the other guests?” 

“How could I enjoy a meal knowing that you have not eaten; are in fact serving others while you remain hungry?” He asked, brushing some loose hair out of her face, smiling softly down at her. “No. Why don’t you bring food up afterwards, and we can break bread together.” 

Blinking rapidly, Marinette nodded, mouth dry, and spun around fumbling for the door handle. She flushed when Chat reached around her to open the door, rushing out into the hallway and away from his intoxicating presence, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. 

* * *

The night was clear, no clouds to obscure the stars that dotted the midnight sky above them. They’d climbed out onto the roof after dinner-or rather, Chat had climbed and then pulled Marinette up behind him; the two of them failing miserably at muffling their giggles so that no passers by might look up from the innyard and see them. 

She did not know how long they had been sat out there, talking about everything and nothing, though her skin was certainly chilled from the cool nights air, her breath puffing out in front of her with every exhale. 

“Are you cold, my love?” Marinette shivered imperceptibly—would she ever get used to being called that? It didn’t seem likely—but said nothing as Chat slung an arm over her shoulders, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“Let’s stay out a little longer?” she whispered and snuggled deeper into Chat’s side. “It’s so peaceful out here.” Chat hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I’ve always loved looking at the stars,” Chat said. “I was fascinated by the stories they’d tell us.”

“Stories?”

“In the constellations. See?” Lifting up his arm, he drew out a shape against the stars, gently guiding her until she could see it for herself. “That’s the Phoenix.” Under the invisible lines he’d used to connect them, the bird seemed to glow more brightly against the sky as if his words had brought it to life. 

“Of course, I didn’t know the true story of the phoenix until I was much older,” Chat laughed quietly. “As a child, my mother told me different stories. These days, I don’t know which I prefer.

“When I was a boy, my mother would spread a blanket out in our garden whenever father was away, and we’d lie back and look at the stars. She’d trace shapes and make stories, and poems out of them for me. After she…” he faltered. “Afterwards, when I was older, my father allowed me to choose one subject to study for myself and I chose astronomy. You can’t imagine how disappointed I was when I found that there was no academic basis for my mother's stories; when I realised that I was the only one who’d ever know them.”

Twisting in his arms to look up at him, Marinette saw that his expression was pensive as he stared at the constellations. Grasping his chin between her fingers, she tilted his face down to meet hers. “You can tell me,” she said seriously, stroking his cheek. “That would make one more person to remember the stories.”

His serious expression melted into a warm smile and he nodded, drawing her close so that her head rested in the crook of his neck. “This one was my favourite. Every single time we looked at the stars, I’d insist on hearing the poem again.” Chat cleared his throat, before beginning. 

_“Can you tell me, which of these birds is Love?_ _  
__In the early morn’, when he sings, will you let me hear it too?_ _  
__If you see him, will you show me too?_

_“One day, when he lands in my garden,_ _  
__I will coax him, feed him sugar with my own hands,_ _  
__teach him how to say my name,_ _  
__and from him, I shall learn how to fly._

_“I have heard that he pricks his heart with thorns,_ _  
__and fills the roses with his blood,_ _  
__giving his life to make a home in our heart._ _  
__  
__He steals our sleep, builds peace, brick by brick to make a house,_ _  
__then, when two days pass like a hundred years,_ _  
__and we scatter in the wind like ashes,_  
 _he breaks from the cage, twists and turns his soul,_ _  
and then sings a song on a new terrace._

_You give him food and he falls for someone else.”_

For a moment, they sat in silence, absorbing the words. “That’s beautiful,” Marinette said, finally. She could imagine a young Chat Noir, sitting next to his mother, begging to hear the poem again and again, hanging on her every word, repeating them to himself until he knew them by heart. Loving the words, but not yet understanding the meaning behind them.

“It is,” Chat agreed. “It’s bittersweet really, a poem about hope, and love, I suppose but…” he swallowed. “In mythology, the Phoenix is a bird that bursts into flames and rises anew from it’s own ashes. I like to think that my mother is like that bird. That she was freed from my father as she longed to be for so long.” 

“My father—” Chat’s voice was rough. “My father is a...formidable man. Mother feared him as much as she loved him, I think, though she never let me see it. I idolised my father as a child, and she didn’t want to ruin my perception of him,” he chuckled humourlessly. “She needn’t have bothered. He did that himself, later.

“I just-I wish her freedom hadn’t come at the cost of her death.”

Marinette said nothing. Shifting out from under his arm, she cupped Chat’s face in her hands. His eyes were closed and he hadn’t seemed to notice the tears that leaked out from beneath his lashes, soaking the mask that covered his face. She wiped them away, kissing his cheek softly. “It sounds like she was a remarkable woman.”

He inhaled a shuddering breath, grasping her hand and keeping it pressed against his cheek. “I love you, Marinette.” Turning his head, he kissed the palm of her hand. “My mother would have loved you too. I’m certain of it.”

He opened his eyes and Marinette was taken aback by how brightly they shone in the moonlight, almost glowing in their intensity. Suddenly, Chat smiled, his lips twisting sardonically. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I ruined our night.”

“You didn’t,” Marinette chided him gently. “I like hearing about these things.” She scowled; “though I’d certainly like to give your father a piece of my mind.” 

Chat guffawed loudly, “I’d like to see that! I’m sure he’d be _very_ intimidated,” he teased and Marinette swatted half heartedly at him, too relieved at seeing his face light up to be truly upset. 

“For your information, I can be frightening when I need to be!”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

"You'll see it _right_ _now_ if you keep that up!" She threatened, allowing Chat to pull her back to lay on the roof again. Resting her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders as they debated her ability to frighten someone, Marinette felt her eyes become heavy, her words slowing until eventually she fell silent. 

Perhaps that was why he said it, thinking her asleep. His fingers tracing up and down her arm as well as the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of his heartbeat against her ear were certainly working to put her to sleep though she clung to the last vestiges of her consciousness in an attempt to prolong the moment. 

Chat had moved his hand to begin stroking her hair, and he seemed to be drifting off to sleep as well, if his voice was any indication. But his words were clear, escaping into the quiet night and hanging in the air in front of her where Marinette stared at them, wide eyed, and unblinking, all traces of sleep gone.

“Marry me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Adrien recites is from the bollywood film _Phillauri_. I love it so much, that movie made me cry.
> 
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	10. The Last Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette finally tells her parents the truth, and Chat embarks on one final venture.

Adrien froze as soon as the words left his mouth, hardly daring to breathe as he waited to see if Marinette had heard him. When the moment passed in silence, he exhaled slowly and resumed stroking her hair slowly only to jerk in surprise when she spoke.

“W-what?” Marinette lifted herself up on her elbow so she could look down at him. “What did you say?” 

He could deny it. Say he hadn’t said a thing, he’d been speaking to himself, distract her with a kiss, saving his proposal for another day...Marinette wouldn’t push it, he knew. She’d accept his excuses, and settle back down on his chest like nothing had happened. 

But he didn’t want to lie, to wait for a perfectly contrived moment to propose. Not when Marinette looked so beautiful, regarding him with a small furrow forming between her brows. Her eyes were luminous blue pools in the moonlight; her hair—usually so meticulously tied—was beginning to escape it’s braid and she made no move to push the strands away as they fell into her face and he had to resist the urge to do so himself. 

The moment was already perfect, Adrien realised. What could be more so than having the woman he loved in his arms as they lay underneath the stars? 

So instead, he repeated; “marry me.” 

Marinette gasped quietly, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. Sitting up, he shifted the two of them until they sat cross legged across from each other and leaned forward, grasping her hands tightly.

“I don’t have a ring to give you,” he began, “but there is nothing I want more than for you to be my wife.

“All I want is for us to live our lives together, without fear, or needing to hide. I know you don’t like lying to your parents,” he cupped her face in his hand, running his thumb across her cheek, “and I know how much you worry about me, about what I do but I could take up an honest trade, maybe become a blacksmith! I think I’d be good at that, and...and you could be a seamstress like you’ve always wanted to be. We could live respectable lives, can’t you see it?” 

She was staring at him, eyes wide. “Pinch me,” she whispered, drawing back with a squeal when he did as she asked. 

" _O_ _w! Chat!”_ Marinette’s scowl quickly melted into a smile as he snatched her waving hand out of the air and bought it to his lips, softly kissing the spot he’d pinched. Peering up at her through his lashes, Adrien smiled at the way her breath hitched in her throat.

“Marry me, my love,” he said again. “Marry me and make me the happiest man alive. What do you say?” 

* * *

Marinette spent the next morning in a daze, practically floating on air as she went about her duties. Engaged! She could hardly believe it. If she hadn’t snuck into Chat’s room that morning to leave the coat she’d made him at the foot of the bed, she might have thought she’d dreamt the entire thing. 

But there he was, lying on his stomach with the sheets tangled around his waist, sound asleep, Plagg snoring on the pillow beside him. It was a glimpse into her future as his wife- _wife!-_ that had sent a giddy thrill through her and she’d quickly backed out of the room before she did something stupid like kissed him awake. 

By the time they’d started serving breakfast, Marinette assumed he’d already left. She hadn’t seen any blonde heads in the dining room, and truthfully she hadn’t expected to either. With his father still looking for him, he was hardly going to advertise his presence to others who might seek to have him captured. Not seeing him at breakfast was but a small sacrifice when she considered the alternative. 

What Marinette _didn’t_ expect however, was to be pulled into a small alcove and kissed soundly on the lips. But she certainly wasn’t complaining. She slid her hands up his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I thought you’d already left,” she murmured, looking at him through hooded eyes and twirling his hair with her fingers. 

“Without giving my lady a good morning kiss?” Chat rested his forehead against hers, nudging her nose gently with his and pecked her lips again. “What kind of fiancé would that make me?”

“I like that word, _fiancé”_ she grinned up at him, finally looking at him properly, and promptly dropped her arms from his neck. “Chat—your mask!” 

He snickered, brushing his hair from out of his face. “What do you think?” 

Marinette stared. Seeing his face now, completely unobscured by the black fabric she’d come to associate with him felt wrong, somehow. Like she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to. Almost involuntarily, her hand came up to touch the skin that was usually covered, tracing along the lines where his mask used to be. 

In the beginning, she’d imagined that the mask hid a terrible disfiguration, perhaps a discolouration he was ashamed of, but his skin was smooth beneath her fingertips; smooth and unblemished. Underneath his mask, the skin was just as tanned as the rest of his face, and his green eyes—so striking behind the black mask—seemed softer as he watched her.

“I thought it was high time you saw me without it.” Chat shrugged. “Besides, if I’m going to stop being Chat Noir, you’ll have to get used to the sight of this face.”

“I like it,” Marinette decided. “But you’ll always be Chat Noir to me. With, or without the mask.”

“Is that so?” A sly smile curled at his lips. “Well in that case, do you think your parents would prefer to meet me with it on?” 

“Chat!”

“What?” Chat laughed. “They’ll want to meet the man their daughter is going to marry, won’t they? I can even wear that beautiful coat you made for me when I do.” 

Marinette’s eyes flicked to meet his. “You like it?” 

“My darling, I love it,” he said, stroking her cheek. “But you didn’t have to make me anything. I bought that velvet so you’d make something for _yourself_ , not use it all on me.”

“Well I wanted to,” Marinette jutted her chin out stubbornly, “and gifts don’t come with stipulations you know. I did what I wanted with it, and what I wanted was to make _you_ something.”

“I’m not going to win this one am I?” Chat groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

“Absolutely not,” she giggled. “It is time you accept defeat.”

“Oh alright. Next time I’ll simply give you something that cannot be repurposed. How does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely.” 

Straightening back up, Chat kissed her softly. “I must go now, but I shall see you this evening, my love. Wait for me tonight.”

* * *

Normally, Marinette tried to hide her emotions while she worked, especially around her parents, because what answer could she give to their questions? But today, she couldn’t help the happiness that spilled out of her, humming a song cheerfully to herself as she helped her maman in the kitchen.

“You’re in a good mood today,” maman remarked with amusement.

“I am,” Marinette confirmed. At maman’s questioning glance, she flushed. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She looked down at the vegetables she was chopping before she blurted out her secret. “And papa,” she added quickly. “Both of you. There’s something I want you to know. Will he be joining us for lunch?” 

“Oh he wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Before Marinette could ask what she meant, the door opened, and Théo stepped in. He hadn’t seen her yet, though any moment now he’d look up and she’d be trapped. Backing away from the table, she grabbed a jug of ale, and gestured over her shoulder. 

“Maman, I’m-I’m just going to go and see if anyones having drinks and needs refills, I’ll be right back!” 

Escaping the kitchen, she busied herself with pouring drinks for their patrons, working as slowly as possible until she had to go back. It wasn’t that she _disliked_ Théo, but he’d recently become much more insistent on keeping her company ignoring all of her hints that she wanted to be left alone. She tried to humour him as much as possible-it was only harmless conversation after all-but the last time they’d spoken he had become strangely intense. 

She’d caught him staring at her hair while she worked, an inscrutable expression on his face. Eventually he’d asked—practically demanded—why she wasn’t wearing the ribbon he’d given her as a gift so long ago and had been unnecessarily upset by her answer that she’d lost it. 

(Of course she didn’t tell him that she’d lost it after her hair had come undone beneath Chat’s fingers and she had been too preoccupied by his lips on hers to care.) 

Returning to the kitchen, Marinette was relieved to see that Théo had left, allowing her to begin preparing for lunch. She worked quietly alongside her maman, gathering her thoughts. How should she break the news to her parents? Where would she even begin? At their first meeting? Or should she simply say that she had been courted for months and was now engaged? 

She still hadn’t decided what to say by the time her papa joined them an hour later. “What was it you wanted to tell us, Marinette dear?” maman asked, exchanging a knowing look with papa. 

“Well-,” Marinette wrung her hands together, avoiding their gaze. “There is...that is…” she licked her lips nervously. “I've been courtingsomeonethelastfewmonths!” She said the words in a big rush, covering her face quickly as she waited for her parents reaction. 

Silence. She heard their chairs scrape back and then her papa’s large hand was on her shoulder and maman was pulling her hands away from her face. 

“We know.”

Marinette’s head snapped up, looking between them in surprise. “You _do?”_

“You’re hardly good at keeping secrets now are you?” maman laughed. “There’s only so many times you can use Constance as an excuse. We’ve known for some time now.” 

“We were waiting for you to tell us, actually,” papa added, moustache twitching above his smile. “So now...when do we get to meet this suitor of yours?” 

Marinette couldn’t help but stare. She had expected disappointment at her for lying, maybe even anger; but looking at her papa’s cheerful face eager to meet Chat, she felt relief flood through her at their acceptance. 

“Well?” maman prodded. 

She flushed. “Erm, well...it’s-it’s not just a courtship anymore, you see,” Marinette said, unable to stop the smile from breaking out across her face. “He proposed, last night. And I said yes. We’re engaged.”

“Darling that’s fantastic!” Papa swept her up in a hug, squeezing her tight. “Now we _definitely_ have to meet him. I want to get to know my son in law!”

A loud clatter behind them made her jump and Marinette turned, as papa set her down to see Théo standing in the doorway, his expression stricken. 

“Théo!” Papa exclaimed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Marinette is going to be wed!” 

He nodded jerkily. “Y-yes, it is.” Meeting her eyes, he forced out a quick “congratulations.” Marinette accepted his thanks with a nod. “I just came to return these,” he placed some dishes on the counter, and before they could say anything else, he fled. 

Marinette felt a pang of guilt in her chest as she watched him go. She had never intended to hurt Théo, had in fact tried to discourage him as much as she could, but he hadn’t been deterred. Perhaps, in a world where she had never met Chat, she might have reciprocated his feelings. But in this world, her heart belonged to Chat and as she turned back to her parents, Théo was forgotten in her excitement at finally- _finally-_ being able to talk about the man she loved.

* * *

The moon hung heavy in the sky, occasionally breaking through the clouds to illuminate the road ahead. It was especially dark tonight, an advantage Adrien planned to exploit later. He was glad for the darkness as he rode up to the inn, keeping to the shadows and allowing them to hide him. 

He was doubly glad for the coat Marinette had given him. It wasn’t black, but the claret red blended into the night just as well, with the added benefit that it kept him warm. (And it kept Plagg’s complaints to a minimum. The kwami had complained bitterly about the white lace at Adriens throat not keeping him as sufficiently warm as the usual cravat he wore, until Adrien had pulled at his collar and allowed him to settle just inside the coat.)

Slowing down upon his approach, Adrien rode up to Marinette’s window, wincing at the way Voltaire’s hooves clashed and clattered on the cobbles of the innyard. He’d always come to see Marinette on foot, leaving Voltaire in the stables of whichever inn had become his lodgings. But tonight, he had a job to do. 

Glancing around the empty inn yard, Adrien whistled lowly, the sound echoing in the night. Above him, the shutters opened to reveal Marinette sat in the window, plaiting her long dark hair. 

“My, my, you look very dashing tonight” she spoke softly, a smile in her voice and Adrien grinned.

“I think so too,” he spread his arms wide. “The transformation will cover this, of course, but when I return to meet your parents, I thought that I ought to look my best.” 

“They’ll love you,” Marinette giggled. “Papa is already half in love with you himself, though maman is reserving her judgement until she sees you in person.” 

“I can respect that. Now, will my lady love deign to give this undeserving thief a kiss for good luck?”

“Luck? For what?”

“I’m going on a raid tonight,” he told her. “A carriage will be passing through the country soon, carrying enough gold to tide over several of Paris’ orphanages over the winter. I think it a noble final venture.” 

“Hm,” Marinette tapped her chin, pretending to consider his request. “You may have your kiss. _If_ you can reach.” 

She held out a hand for him and Adrien stood up in his stirrups, but even with Marinette leaning as far out of her window as she dared, their lips would not meet. 

Instead, she loosened her hair, letting it fall over Chat’s waiting hand and she watched as he kissed the dark waves, pressing his face to her hair and inhaling the perfume she had brushed into it. 

“How long will you be gone?” she asked.

“That much gold will be heavily guarded," Adrien replied, sitting back down. “The job will be done by dawn but I shall have to lay low for the day to avoid the guards, perhaps draw them away instead." Seeing her worried frown, Adrien hurried to assure her. "But I _will_ return by evening. Watch for me, my love. Nothing could keep me away. Not even Hell could stop me from coming to you."

Marinette cocked an eyebrow. “Are you _expecting_ the hounds of hell to chase you?” she laughed, waving her hand. “Alright, go! Oh and Plagg?” 

The kwami popped out from Adrien's coat, his green eyes bright in the darkness. "Take care of him, won't you?" 

Instead of making a snarky remark, Plagg simply nodded. Seeming satisfied by his response, she looked to Adrien again, her eyes shining. "I'll be waiting." 

As he reached the edge of the innyard, Adrien felt an overwhelming urge to look back. From a distance, Marinette was but a silhouette, framed against her window by the flickering yellow candlelight in her room. But as he watched, the moon broke through the clouds again, brightening the yard. She was watching him still, and she smiled as he met her eyes. 

She didn’t speak- he was too far to hear her anyway-but she shifted so that he could see the love knot she was plaiting into her hair and Adrien nodded, thumping a fist against his chest—over his heart—in response before wheeling around, and riding back down the white road. 

Had Adrien known that this was the last time he'd ever see Marinette, he might have looked a little longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm I wonder what this could mean...
> 
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	11. Théos Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proof in hand, Théo finally makes his move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter this week folks, but next week is a whopper.

“You are certain he will be there.” Monsieur Agreste’s eyes pinned him in place and Théo forced himself not to fidget. He knew he didn’t look particularly trustworthy. His hair had refused to lay flat and he was sure his eyes looked more than a little crazed. But this was his last chance.

“Y-yes, Monsieur.” He lowered his head respectfully. “I heard them speaking, he said that he shall return by nightfall tomorrow.”

God had smiled upon him this night, providing him with the means to get rid of his rival once and for all. Truly, good things came to those who waited. He had been watching, waiting for so long, and had begun to despair of ever freeing Marinette from the clutches of Chat Noir when he’d finally been granted his reward-the clue that would ensure that the thief would never see Marinette again. 

When Chat had ridden into the inn yard, Théo had to resist the urge to charge out of the stables at the man and finish things himself. But Marinette was sitting in her window and she would never forgive him; of that he was certain. 

Instead, he had gotten as close as he dared, trying not to let the stable wickets creak as he listened to their conversation, feeling his blood boil with every word that was exchanged. 

And then he’d seen it—what he’d been waiting for. 

As the bastard left, he had paused, just before the road. Théo had drawn back into the shadows, but not before his eye caught sight of the mark on his horse. A large bend-or spot near it’s flank. 

A  _ familiar _ mark, in the shape of a strawberry. A spot he’d seen almost daily, when he’d been an apprentice at the Agreste stables almost a year ago. What were the chances of two different horses bearing the same distinct mark in the same place? No. It had to be Voltaire. He’d recognise that horse anywhere.

It seemed this robber stole more than just hearts. A horse thief! There were many who would kill a man for such a thing, and Théo knew that Monsieur Agreste was not one to show mercy on those who stole from him. 

Now, standing before Monsieur Agreste in his office, Théo couldn’t help but worry that he’d gotten it wrong. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, his face an unreadable mask, and without thinking, he blurted out “it’s not right, sir! She’s a respectable young lady, she shouldn’t be cavorting with common criminals like him, and ruining her reputation!”

Monsieur Agreste’s eyes seemed to flare for a moment before he let out a short laugh. “And I suppose you wish to save her from such a terrible fate. Very well.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I shall look into the matter. You may leave.”

* * *

Théo took his time returning. Things were finally- _ finally _ going his way. Chat Noir would be taken out of the picture, and he wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. It was his own crimes that would condemn him, his own thievery. 

Marinette would be distraught, of course. But not for long. Théo would be there to console her, to comfort her in her time of need and she would finally recognise him for the man who was best for her; who had been there all along, waiting for her attention.

And of course, her parents would want the best for her. They’d see the two of them together, see how Théo took care of their daughter and their reservations about a union would be put to rest. 

It was still dark when he got back to the inn, but Théo wasn’t tired. His body pulsed with energy, the blood thrumming through his veins, unable to let him sit still. Instead, he set about clearing the stables he had destroyed in his rage earlier. 

He had been foolish, before. Thinking that all was lost. He’d let his despair cloud his judgement, felt a madness take ahold of his mind at the sight of Marinette’s flushed cheeks as she excitedly told her parents of an engagement to a man that was not him. Her indifferent eyes as she watched him leave had felt like something sharp in his heart. 

He’d half hoped that Marinette would run after him, declare that she did not love Chat Noir, that she had only courted him to make Théo jealous, that it was  _ him _ she loved. But that did not happen. 

As he swept up the mess, Théo smiled to himself, shaking his head ruefully. None of that mattered now. Soon, things would return to normal, these past few months would be forgotten; nothing but a speck in the timeline of their long lives together. It was hardly worth thinking about, even now. It was over and soon...

Soon, everything would be as it should. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what the consequences of Théos actions might be...  
> Shout out to my horse obsessed friend who helped me figure out what the identifying mark on Chat's horse could be, I would _not _known about bend or spots otherwise.__
> 
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	12. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

The bullet whistled past his ear and Adrien ducked, swearing under his breath. Quickly veering off the road, he took cover behind a copse of trees. It wasn’t long before his pursuers thundered past and he moved backwards, ensuring that he was well hidden. They didn’t linger, continuing down the road but Adrien didn’t move, sitting and catching his breath instead.

This last raid had proven to be more hassle than it was worth. The guards had been chasing him through the countryside all day, hindering his chances of going to meet Marinette as he’d promised. 

Still, it wasn’t night yet. He had time to shake them off. If he could just get rid of Voltaire...there was an empty travelers stable somewhere, close, Adrien was sure of it. If he left his horse there and proceeded on foot, he’d be sure to lose them. He’d have to come back for Voltaire of course, but from what he remembered, the stable was only a few miles down the road from Marinette’s inn and he could go see her afterwards. 

It didn’t take long to find the stable, though just to be safe, Adrien remained hidden, keeping to the trees and avoiding the road where he could. He’d already misjudged the guards before when they’d sent some men ahead and kept others behind to try and trap him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

Thankfully, the stable was well stocked, and after making sure that it was completely empty, he settled Voltaire in a stall and dropped his transformation with a sigh. Plagg whirled out of the ring with a yowl, zipping around the small room several times before coming to a stop in front of Adrien, his bright green eyes accusing. 

“I’m not transforming again for _at least_ eight hours,” he informed Adrien primly. “You can’t just keep me in the ring for that long!”

“Oh, shut up and eat your cheese,” Adrien said tiredly. Sensing his irritation, Plagg didn’t argue further, simply taking the proffered cheese, and settling in his hair. 

Emerging slowly from the stable once the kwami was finished, he peered down the road for his pursuers but the road was empty. He knew better than to trust that though. Sticking to the trees once again, he continued on his way. 

Adrien only faltered once, when he passed the inn where Marinette waited for him. It felt like an eternity since he’d last kissed her, though it had only been yesterday. 

Would it really be so bad if he just went to see her now? Just for a moment...he could steal a kiss and be on his way, without lingering long enough to lead the guards there. Adrien bit his lip, considering. The temptation was overwhelming and he was powerless to resist. 

He’d only taken one step when he heard it, the thundering of hooves and a voice calling out; “There he is! Get him, men!” 

Looking back, Adrien cursed. Marinette would have to wait a little longer. He glanced longingly at the inn once more, before turning his back and escaping into the winding streets of Paris. 

* * *

“You’ll snap your neck if you keep doing that.”

Marinette flushed, scowling as papa laughed uproariously at her. She never thought she’d see the day where she bemoaned a slow day at the inn, yet here she was. Usually, when they had such few patrons, she’d use the free time to work on her sewing, practising for Madame Daquin; or more recently, escaping to spend time with Chat. 

But Madame had stopped their lessons for the winter, and Chat was still away, so instead she had to endure papa’s jokes at her expense. He had been absolutely insufferable all day, teasing her every time her head snapped up at the sound of the door in case it was Chat who came through. 

She knew it was irrational. It was nearing twilight and he had said that if he wasn’t back during the day he’d come at nightfall, but she couldn’t help it. She’d even gotten up with the dawn, sitting in her window and watching to see if he passed by; but the road had remained empty, a twisting white ribbon against the orange sunrise. 

“Besides,” papa nudged her playfully. “If he comes to see you I doubt he’d use the door.” 

“Papa!” Marinette shrieked, scandalised “I-I-,” shaking her head she retreated into the kitchen when the few patrons sitting in the room looked up in curiosity. 

Of course, the kitchen offered no reprieve either, with maman taking advantage of the lull in business to pore over recipes she thought Chat might enjoy. Maman looked up as Marinette entered, laughing at her expression. “Well dear, your father is only telling the truth.” 

“Not you too!” Marinette wailed, burying her face in her hands. 

Honestly, she almost regretted telling them about Chat. Almost, but not quite. Not when she could imagine the smile on his face at the warm welcome he’d receive; his excitement as he joined forces with papa to make terrible jokes; his glee at the veritable feast maman was sure to prepare for him...

“Oh, alright,” maman took pity on her and patted the stool beside her for Marinette to sit on. “Why don’t you tell me about him. What does he do?” 

“He doesn’t have a job right now..” Marinette said slowly. Somehow she doubted her parents would consider highway robbery a viable occupation. “Though he wishes to be a blacksmith, if he can find someone to apprentice with.”

“I can talk to Monsieur Fabron for him, if he’d like,” papa poked his head through the door. “He’s been thinking of taking an apprentice. Marinette will you pass me those jugs of ale?”

“That’s a good idea, Tom!” maman said. “Though I think you should wait until we meet Marinette’s suitor before you go around promising work opportunities. Fabron won’t appreciate a recommendation if you don’t actually know anything about the boy.”

“I know that Marinette loves him. That’s a glowing recommendation in itself, wouldn’t you say? Anything else is just a bonus.” He ruffled her hair when she handed him the drinks, laughing at the disgruntled look she gave him in response. 

“Papa! Stop that, I’m not a five year old.” She paused, a horrifying thought occuring to her. “You can’t do that when he’s here—,”

“Why not? You’re still my little girl aren’t you?”

“It’s embarrassing! Maman, tell him he’s not allowed to treat me like a child, I’ll never live it down.” Marinette sent a pleading look to maman, who only held up her hands to say she wouldn’t get involved. 

“Embarrassing, hm?” looking back at papa, she gulped at the look in his eye, scrambling backwards as he put the ale down and advanced on her, hands outstretched. “Whatever do you mean, Marinette? You couldn’t possibly think I’d embarrass you by doing something like this!” He lunged forward just as Marinette bolted, pulling her underneath his arm and tickling her. 

“Papa! St-stop-stop it-,” she wheezed, shoving against him, but papa was merciless in his attack, refusing to relent even as tears streamed down her cheeks from her laughter. 

“Is this what you were worried about?” He paused for a second as he spoke, trying to still her wriggling and she seized the chance, kicking him in the shin until he released her, doubling over in pain. 

“I’ll do it again!” Marinette ran to hide behind maman, breathing heavily, unable to stop the giggles that escaped her with every breath. Peering around maman, she ducked back down when she saw papa straighten up but before he could retaliate, the door to the inn slammed open with a loud bang. 

All jokes forgotten, papa exchanged a worried glance with maman. “Both of you, stay here,” he said, hurrying out of the kitchen. 

The two of them waited in tense silence, straining to hear what was going on. There was a stomping of boots across the floor, chairs and tables scraping back, voices raising in anger. But still, there was no indication as to what the disturbance was, and anxiety churned in her gut. 

Was it perhaps an angry patron? Perhaps the guards Chat had stolen from? Or just a particularly aggressive guest? The loud voices quietened to a murmur and then suddenly there was a loud _crack,_ followed by the sound of papa crying out. 

Marinette rushed forward without thinking, maman close on her heels, and then came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, all the breath escaping her lungs. 

For their inn, was now full to the brim with soldiers. Dressed in a silver uniform that she didn’t recognise, but soldiers nonetheless. And that could only mean one thing. 

Her legs buckled. Grabbing hold of the doorframe to keep from falling, Marinette sagged against maman, her mind whirling. All she could think was _they know, they know..._ but how? Chat would never knowingly endanger her, but then what other reason could these soldiers have for their presence here? And there were _so many_ of them! 

The room had been emptied of the few patrons they’d had that day, and two men stood beside every doorway, muskets in their hands. Others swarmed the room, shoving the furniture carelessly as they searched the place. Papa sat, slumped against the bar, a nasty gash forming on his temple and Marinette cried out at the sight. 

“Papa!” 

He stared at her, unseeing and then seemed to shake himself, some semblance of clarity returning to his eyes. Beside him, the man who seemed to be the captain glanced over at her, his lip curling in a lewd smile. Marinette ignored him, stepping around the man to get to papa, but his hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. 

Whipping her head round, she glared at him. He only laughed, twisting her wrist harder. Leaning close, he leered at her, his small dark eyes raking up and down her body lewdly, making her skin crawl. “Well, I can certainly see why he took a liking to _you_.” 

Marinette said nothing. In her periphery, she saw maman helping papa to stand. His face was ashen and though his voice shook, he spoke clearly. 

“Unhand my daughter at once! Is it not enough that your men have removed all patrons from my establishment and robbed me of valuable business?” 

Without taking his eyes off her, the captain spoke over his shoulder to papa. “Are you aware, monsieur, that your daughter has been having an affair with the known criminal, Chat Noir?” 

Mama inhaled sharply. For a long moment there was silence, and Marinette didn’t dare to meet her parent’s eyes, too scared of the disappointment she would see in them. 

“Be that as it may…” papa began falteringly. “Be that as it may…that is no reason for you to invade our home.” 

“But that is precisely the reason, my dear man!” The captain let go of Marinette, clapping papa on the shoulder with fake cheer. “He’s evaded capture long enough. But now that we know about _you…_ ” he smiled lasciviously at her and snapped his fingers, addressing his men, his eyes hard. “Take her upstairs. That’s where he’ll be expecting her.” 

* * *

It hadn’t been as difficult as he had thought it might be; escaping the guards. They didn’t know the city like he did, and were forced to ask locals for directions. Not for the first time, Adrien was grateful that he had earned the love of the Parisians as Chat Noir. More than once, he’d overheard a vegetable seller, or clothes merchant—who he knew for _certain_ had seen him pass by—send the guards on a wild chase with the wrong directions.

They’d seemed to have given up soon after, and he’d spent the evening going around to the various orphanages in the city, distributing the wealth he had stolen for the last time. It had felt bittersweet, the end of such an important chapter in his life; but the next one...the next one would be far greater. 

Adrien dropped the bag of coin onto the table with a _thunk_. “Here,” he said to the house mother. “This shall tide you over for the winter months. Afterwards I won’t be able to provide gold. That’s...well all that is over now.” 

The house mother’s eyes were kind as she took the bag, getting up to put it away in a locked cupboard. “Oh? Turning over a new leaf are you?”

“Something like that,” he felt a flush creeping along his cheeks, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “I’m getting married, actually. I want to lead an honest life with my wife. A life with my real name. One without thievery, or the threat of capture at every turn.”

* * *

Marinette felt sick to her stomach, bile rising in her throat as the soldiers shoved her up the stairs. Behind her, she heard the captain shout at his men; “fill your cups, boys! Tonight is a celebration!” A loud cheer went up from the men and the soldier who’d grabbed hold of her growled under his breath. 

“Hurry up!” He pushed her harder, making her stumble over her skirts. Herding her across the landing, they kicked her bedroom door open and dragged her across to the foot of her bed. 

Two of them went immediately to the window, and threw open the shutters. There they stood, on either side of the window, where they could easily see out into the night and not be seen from the outside, muskets in their hands. 

Marinette could hardly bear to look at them, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight either.

One of those muskets would kill Chat. 

One of those muskets would release the bullet that would tear through him, rip through his organs and take his life. Which one would it be? And would she be able to tell? Would she see which bullet hit it’s mark? And these men were celebrating! Cowards, the lot of them!

Tears lodged in her throat and Marinette shut her eyes as though that would erase the horror before her. Chat would be coming soon, of that she was certain. He’d promised. And he never broke his promises. But just this once, she wished he would. Wished he would stay far away from the cursed place. 

_Oh Lord,_ she prayed. _Oh Lord, keep him from these men who wish to harm him._ Hadn’t Plagg said he was some sort of God? Did that mean he could hear prayers too? Concentrating hard on what the little God looked like, she directed her thoughts to him too _Plagg...Plagg please, keep Chat safe, stop him from coming here, keep him alive, I beg—_

Her prayers were cut short when she was yanked upright and her eyes flew open, tears spilling down her cheeks. The other soldiers had procured some rope and began tying her to her narrow bed frame. One of them took great pleasure in the act, running his hands over her every curve, groping her breast and smiling wickedly at her as she tried to squirm away. 

“You don’t like that?” he teased. “We heard you don’t mind when _Chat Noir_ does it.”

Marinette spat in his face, glaring, but the satisfaction was short lived. Wiping the saliva off his face, the soldier’s expression darkened, his eyes gleaming full of hatred and then without warning, his hand cracked across her face, snapping it back from the force of the blow. Black spots danced in front of her vision and there was a ringing in her ears. 

“Feisty, isn’t she?” the shorter soldier beside him snorted. “But we can’t have her screaming now…” He ripped off a strip of her bedsheet and gagged her, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Much better. Wouldn’t you say, Henri?” 

They turned to leave, muttering about ale, but as they crossed the room, the soldier called Henri paused. Pulling his musket out he looked at the leftover rope in his partners hands and then back at Marinette. 

“Help me with this first,” he said, and fitted his musket to her side, the muzzle digging into her skin, just below her heart. They tied it there and laughed. “That’s for your disrespect.” Grabbing her by the hair, Henri yanked her head back, forcing her to look out the window. “Now you keep a good watch, won’t you girlie?” She could smell his fetid breath on her skin as he hissed in her ear, making her eyes water before leaving her there, helpless, to watch out upon the road that Chat would ride.

* * *

It was getting late. Bidding goodbye to the house mother, Adrien was halfway out the door when he felt a tug at the bottom of his coat. Clutching a blanket and staring up at him with large eyes, his mouth turned down in a frown, was Jacques.

“Hello Jacques. What’s the matter?” Adrien let the door slam shut behind him, pulling the boy away from the cold. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

“I couldn’t sleep” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Are you really not going to be Chat Noir anymore?”

Adrien stared. “Well.” He huffed out a laugh. “That’s a little complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

How on earth could he explain it to a child? And _Jacques_ at that? He’d always been the first to greet him whenever he visited the orphanage and Adrien knew the boy idolised him. He would be crushed.

Adrien sat against the wall, gesturing for Jacques to sit beside him. “I suppose...I could never really _stop_ —Chat Noir is a part of who I am now—but I won’t be riding the streets waiting to rob people anymore.”

“But then who will teach me to fight with proper swords?” Jacques' voice was small, his chin wobbling. “And-and-who will fight the bad people?” 

"That doesn't mean you won't see me again,” Adrien laughed. “I'll keep visiting, just without the mask. I'll even bring my wife. And as for fighting bad men..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out the black mask he kept spare, passing it to the boy who took it almost reverentially. “You can be the next Chat Noir, if you so wish.”

“Just don’t try to fight people straight away!” He said hurriedly. “Wait until you’re a little older and I’ve taught you some more, alright?” 

Jacques nodded rapidly, the mask clutched in his fist. “Thank you Chat!” he exclaimed, and flung himself at Adrien—almost bowling him over— wrapping his little arms around his neck. Bringing his arms around the boy, Adrien held him close before letting go, standing and ushering Jacques back to bed. 

As he tucked the blankets around Jacques shoulders, pried the mask from his fingers and put it underneath his pillow (where Jacques immediately shoved his hand to keep holding it), Adrien couldn’t help but imagine what his and Marinette’s children would be like. 

Would they have his blonde hair, or have her blue eyes? Or would they be a blend of them both? Would they be like Jacques? Quiet, and eager to learn, or would they be loud and rambunctious, refusing to sit still for even a moment; running their parents ragged at all hours of the day? 

_Parents!_ Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought. For so long, he had believed that his marriage would be a political chess move for father, that any children he had would grow to resent him as he did his own. It was a bleak image, but it was the only one he knew.

But with Marinette he saw a future so bright, so beautiful it made him weep, made him look forward to being a husband, to having children, with her by his side.

* * *

The sounds of the soldiers' drunken merrymaking had finally died down and now the inn sat, silent. Waiting. 

Marinette didn’t know how long she’d been tied there. Sweat prickled at her scalp and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood when the coarse rope rubbed against her sore wrists, the musket still digging into her side. 

The soldiers had made a mistake, tying such a powerful weapon to her. They’d believed it would keep her docile, and perhaps it might have, if she was the sort to give up.

It had been a slow effort, trying to loosen the ropes enough, making sure not to make a sound, acutely aware of the soldiers standing with their backs to her at the window. She’d almost wept in despair when the knots refused to budge, bloodying her wrists and chafing the skin beneath them completely raw, but all that was forgotten when she’d managed to stretch her fingers _just so_ , and she’d felt it, her finger—slippery with sweat or blood—hooking onto the trigger. 

Now, all there was left to do was wait. 

At some point during the night, the soldiers had bought maman and papa upstairs, tying them up at the other side of the room. She could feel their eyes on her from across the room, knew they had been watching her struggle for hours with her ropes; knew that they had seen what she was doing with the musket at her breast. But she refused to look at them. Couldn’t look at them. _Wouldn’t_ look at them. Because she couldn’t bear it. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Marinette instead thought of Chat, of the promises he had made. Had it only been two nights ago that they’d lay underneath the stars? Only two nights since they’d whispered of their future together; since they’d snuck back into her room and he’d spun her around in a waltz, humming a merry tune and dipping her backwards with a laugh; telling her how they would dance together every night in their own home? 

She could see the two of them now, phantoms in the dark, twirling across the floor, giddy with excitement for the future, oblivious to how quickly it would be cut short; dreaming of the life they would build together.

In the darkness, Marinette saw it all. Everything that they had dreamed manifesting in front of her like a cruel vision, taunting her with what she would never have. 

She saw Chat carry her over the threshold into their new home, saw his hands on her growing belly as it swelled with pregnancy, saw him kneel to kiss her stomach and speak to the child within. Saw twin boys—Hugo and Louis had been the names they’d agreed upon— one fair, one dark, clinging to their parents legs while they danced, shrieking with laughter as their father spun them around and around the room. Saw Chat throw their daughter up into the air and catch her, laughing off Marinette’s reprimand and whispering conspiratorially with his princess. Saw the two of them sitting by the fire of an evening, talking quietly to each other as the children slept, content, and happy, and _safe._

And still, the phantoms continued to dance, growing older with every step, every twirl, until they were both old and grey, swaying slowly to a tune only they could hear. 

Jerking her head to the side to dispel the vision, Marinette bit her tongue, hard, to muffle the sob building up in her chest. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself, not now. But she couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks, couldn’t stop her heart from cracking in her chest.

 _Tlot-tlot._ The sound echoed in the silent night. _Tlot-tlot._ There it was again!

It was him. 

Finger twitching against the trigger, Marinette took a deep breath and craned her neck to watch the road, yearning to catch one last glimpse of him. Quietly, the soldiers snaked their muskets out of the window.

Inhale.

Exhale.

There! Finally she could see him. See his blonde head illuminated under the moonlight. He was victorious then, as if there was any doubt. Straining her neck further, she even caught a glimpse of his rakish smile and she imagined how his eyes must be glittering with excitement. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

The soldiers shifted in the window, adjusting their aim as Chat came closer. She remembered Chat’s hands cupping her face, wiping her tears away and his vow to her after he’d proposed, taking her hands in his, kissing her ring finger reverently. _Our souls are entwined, my lady. And that is no small thing. In every lifetime, in every land, we shall find each other. Of that there is no doubt._ Marinette closed her eyes. Her heartbeat was steady. She felt no fear. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

_Then let me meet you in the next life._

Marinette pulled the trigger. 

The gunshot exploded into the cold air. Loud enough that if she screamed, she did not hear it. Loud enough that the soldiers started at the noise, whirling around to see what had happened; their mission forgotten as behind their gags maman screamed, and papa roared, leaping forward as the musket shattered her breast. 

It hurt. _Oh,_ but it hurt. Her chest felt like it was on fire, a blazing pain that throbbed with the faltering beat of her heart. She wanted to close her eyes, to desperately succumb to the darkness that had begun to cloud her vision but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she _knew_ Chat was safe. 

She felt hands all over her—papa, cradling her head, weeping great tears that splashed down onto her face— _I’m sorry_ , she tried to say— maman, frantically trying to undo her ropes—voices, shouting from a great distance, echoing in her ears. _I’m so sorry._

Finally, the last knot was undone and she was free. Papa lifted her up into his arms but she felt herself shake-why was she shaking? Head lolling sideways, she blinked slowly when maman stroked her hair, looking past her out of the window. 

The road was empty. He’d gone. 

With one final, rattling exhale, Marinette let her eyes slip shut. 

* * *

Adrien didn’t find out until morning. 

He’d been dismayed the night before when he’d heard the gunshot. He hadn’t seen where it came from, but so late at night it could have only been for him. Those guards were absolutely relentless, but he refused to lead them to Marinette, and so with a disappointed groan, he’d turned around and gone home.

He didn’t find out until he was getting ready to meet Marinette’s parents, adjusting the ruffled white lace at his neck; smoothing down his velvet jacket; making sure his hair was well styled. 

Plagg had just flown into his pocket when Constance burst into the room with a shriek, flying at him in a tear streaked rage and pummelling his chest. 

“Con-Constance wh- _stop it!_ ” He grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length so she couldn’t hit him anymore. An unintelligible wail wrested itself from her throat and she dissolved into uncontrollable sobs, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. 

Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach and Adrien fought to keep his voice steady, leading Constance to sit on the bed, kneeling in front of her. “ _What. Happened?_ ” She didn’t answer, her sobs only growing louder. 

“Constance _please_ , tell me what’s going on? I need to go and see Marinette soon I can get her for—,”

“ _You said you’d protect her!_ ” she shrieked suddenly, fixing him with a glare and Adriens blood ran cold. 

“And I meant that,” he said slowly, a tingle of dread ran down his spine. “You know I did.”

“ _No you didn’t!”_ Constance shoved him, hard. “It’s _your fault_ she’s _dead_ and it’s _your fault_ she sacrificed herself to save you _,_ and now she’s _dead!_ ” She stood over him, chest heaving. “ _She’s dead!”_ She clapped her hands over her mouth, to muffle her great choking sobs. 

Adrien could only stare, uncomprehending; hardly aware of his undignified position on the floor. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. Was it? No, she couldn’t be dead. He could feel Plagg vibrating anxiously in his pocket and the only thing running through his mind was _not her, not her, please,_ please _not her._

Standing slowly, he grabbed Constance by the shoulders again, shaking her into shocked silence. “What. Happened.” Fury thrummed underneath his skin, white hot, waiting to explode. He only vaguely heard Constance’s explanation through the roaring in his ears. 

“Troop...soldiers...ambush...tied up...musket...warning.”

Adrien's legs buckled underneath him. Falling to his knees, he just managed to turn his head before emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor. The gunshot from the night before... _A_ _warning..._ Marinette had given her _life_ to warn him…

“It was an ambush for _me_ , you said?” his voice came out hoarse.

Constance nodded. 

“Then they shall have their quarry.” Wiping his mouth, Adrien stood. 

He didn’t listen to her protests, shaking her off when she tried to stop him. Nor did he notice Constance’s gasp when Plagg flew out of his pocket, coming to hover in front of his face, his eyes pleading. He didn’t look at Plagg as he took off the ring, and it was only when the kwami disappeared with a green swirl that he felt a wave of grief so strong it made him stumble. 

Swallowing, he turned to Constance. “Wear this ring,” he said. “Plagg will tell you how to return him to the Guardian. He _cannot_ be lost in the wrong hands.” Adrien didn’t wait for her to respond, striding out into the street. 

The morning sun he’d admired only a few minutes ago—thought of as a good omen for his day—seemed distorted now, ugly. How could the world continue when Marinette was no longer here? How could shopkeepers open their stalls, go about their day as if nothing had happened? Did they not feel it? How the world was diminished without her? 

Mounting Voltaire, Adrien drew his sword, riding through the streets like a madman. People in the road leapt out of his way but he did not see them. 

How dare they? _How dare they_ kill a woman as pure as Marinette? A woman who had done no wrong? 

And yet...it was his fault too. Had he left her alone, she would be alive still. Images flashed in his mind of Marinette, of her bleeding, broken, _dying for him_ and a roar exploded out of his chest as he rode, tears clouding his vision. _She didn’t even know my name._

He didn’t notice them until they shot Voltaire from underneath him, sending the horse reeling, bucking him off the saddle. Adrien scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. He was surrounded. 

His father's men. Adrien wanted to laugh. Of course. They wouldn’t spare him. He wouldn’t want them to anyway. 

The only thing he regretted was that Marinette’s beautiful velvet coat would be ruined. Briefly, he wondered about her parents. He was supposed to meet them today. Maybe he still would.

He wondered if they would be kind enough to bury him beside their daughter. If not in life, then they could be united in death. 

As the men closed in on him, Adrien's grip on his sword loosened, letting it drop from his hand with a resounding clatter. He would not fight today. There was nothing to fight _for._ He closed his eyes.

 _I’m coming, my love_.

The first gunshot made him stumble. The second made him fall. After the third, they left him there on the road, where the fine lace at his throat darkened with his own red blood. 


	13. Epilogue: A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so as most of you figured out already in the last chapter, this was inspired by The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes (and also the Karliene album of the same name. Her track 'King George's Men' _kills _me everytime)__

**Paris, 228 years later**

The resemblance was uncanny.

Plagg would have thought about it more, but the room he’d emerged into was  _ huge, _ white and spacious and filled with so many interesting things he’d never seen before. Personally, he thought he could be forgiven for getting a little sidetracked. 

And then came his new chosens first battle and his eagerness to transform—boy wasn’t  _ that _ familiar. But Plagg tried not to think about that. 

It became impossible to avoid though, when after the battle, he introduced himself as Adrien Agreste, shaking his paw so seriously that Plagg thought he was taking part in some kind of business transaction.

“Woah, woah kid!” Plagg flew up and did a loop in the air. “No need to be so  _ formal.  _ I’m the kwami of destruction. Chaos. I don’t care about  _ manners. _ ” 

Adrien had looked scandalised and Plagg snickered, zipping across the room. He spent a few moments examining the many tables of food his new chosen had provided for him. None of them held any cheese, which was an absolute travesty. 

“...a huge celebration in honour of our city’s new protectors: Ladybug, and Chat Noir!” Plagg’s head snapped up and he stared at the TV. Did that man just say…?

“Chat Noir?!” He exclaimed, flying up into Adrien's face. “ _ That’s _ your superhero name?” 

“Uhh..” Adrien finally looked away from the news, and shot Plagg an embarrassed smile. “Yeah that’s me. You don’t like it?”

“No, no it’s great!” he hurried to assure him. What were the odds of his new chosen having the same names as his previous one? 

“Right?” Adrien’s eyes took on a dreamy quality. “I read about him in a history book once, he was so cool. It was the first thing I thought of after I transformed!”

A suspicion began to form in his mind, but Plagg didn’t dare voice it out loud. If Tikki was here, he’d have asked her opinion but for now, he’d have to keep things to himself. 

* * *

Peeking out of Adrien’s pocket, Plagg caught a glimpse of the girl he was talking to. There was no mistaking it. It was Marinette. She was exactly the same as he remembered her—the same inky hair (though much shorter), the same bluebell eyes—albeit much younger than she’d been when he’d met her the first time. 

_ So  _ that’s  _ what they were waiting for. _

He didn’t look for long; Adrien was holding out his umbrella for Marinette, which meant Plagg was now getting wet, his fur matting in the rain. He’d have to tell Adrien off about it later. 

“First day of school and we already have two lovebirds,” Plagg teased, sniggering at the way Adrien flushed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Whatever, she’s just a friend,” he reprimanded a surprised Plagg. Huh. It seemed like Adrien wasn’t immediately smitten this time. Adrien’s eyes lit up. “A  _ friend.” _

Then again. Maybe not. Snorting, Plagg settled back into Adrien’s pocket with a grin.

This was going to be interesting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, we have come to the end of Phantoms in the Dark. Thank you everyone, for coming on this ride with me, but the story isn't over yet! Watch out for the sequel _Forgotten Promises _, I will be posting the first chapter on Monday! See you there!__
> 
> __Follow me on:_  
> [tumblr](https://hanaasbananas.tumblr.com/)  
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> _


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